


Novus Ordinem Voldemort

by BackslashEcho



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Gen, Not strictly DAYDverse compliant, Post-Order of the Phoenix AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1259122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BackslashEcho/pseuds/BackslashEcho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The slightest change can make a huge difference. The Second Wizarding War drags on, as Harry and his remaining allies are forced to go deep underground to continue the fight after Voldemort takes over the Ministry and the rest of the country by force.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by ["The Ministry has fallen."](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/65565) by http://pragmatique.tumblr.com/. 
  * Inspired by [Dumbledore's Army and the Year of Darkness](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/88316) by Thanfiction. 



> This is (obviously) an AU. This prologue details the point where the story diverged from canon toward the end of OotP, and during the Battle of Hogwarts.  
> Further divergences from canon (which are mostly consequences of this first change) will be outlined in various flashbacks or side stories.

_**The Battle of the Department of Mysteries, 18 June 1996** _

As Harry scrambled up, he looked around and saw Lucius Malfoy smash into the dais on which Sirius and Bellatrix were now duelling. Malfoy aimed his wand at Harry and Neville again, but before he could draw breath to strike, Lupin had jumped between them.

“Harry, round up the others and GO!”

Harry seized Neville by the shoulder of his robes and lifted him bodily on to the first tier of stone steps surrounding the dais. Neville's legs, still bewitched by the Dancing Feet Charm, twitched and jerked and would not support his weight; Harry heaved again with all the strength he possessed and they climbed another step.

A spell hit the stone bench at Harry's heel; it crumbled away and he fell back to the step below. Neville sank to the ground, his legs still jerking and thrashing, and he thrust the prophecy into his pocket.

“Come on!” said Harry desperately, hauling at Neville's robes. “Just try and _push_ with your legs—”

He gave another stupendous heave and Neville's robes tore all along the left seam. The small spun-glass ball dropped from his pocket and, before either of them could catch it, one of Neville's floundering feet kicked it: it flew some ten feet to their right and Harry was certain it was going to smash against the step. But then:

“Accio prophecy!”

Millimetres from collision, the little glass sphere arced gracefully upward, over the furor of the battle, and landed in the upraised hand of a gleeful Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Harry, I'b sorry!” cried Neville, his face anguished, blood still streaming from his broken nose. His legs continued to flounder. “I’b so sorry, Harry, I didn'd bean do—” 

Pausing only to aim one final curse at Sirius, Bellatrix turned on her heel and bolted up the stone steps opposite. As the hem of her cloak whipped out of sight, Malfoy yelled, “We have the prophecy! Kill these fools and let us be gone!”

Before Malfoy could finish speaking, however, the door to the Brain Room flew open to reveal Albus Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. Dumbledore's spell effortlessly pulled all of the Death Eaters together at the foot of the dais, where they sat unmoving.

Harry hadn’t stayed to watch. The moment Dumbledore had appeared, Harry had left Neville’s side and sprinted after Bellatrix. Lupin, who had been crouched on the dais beside Sirius, tried to intercept him, but Harry evaded him and pounded up the steps. He shouldered through the door that Bellatrix had gone through, streaked across circular black hall of the Department of Mysteries, and saw Bellatrix disappearing into a lift at the far end of the hallway.

Moments later, Harry was in his own lift, hammering the Atrium button. He forced his way out of the lift before the grilles were fully open, wand outstretched, and yelled, “STUPEFY!”.

Bellatrix, feet from the telephone box-lift that would allow her to escape the Ministry and disapparate, was forced to dodge aside. She whirled and pointed her wand at Harry.

Harry flung himself behind the Fountain of Magical Brethren to avoid the curse, covering his head in his hands as the golden centaur’s arm and bow were sent spinning into the air by the force of her spell.

“Too late, too slow!” she jeered in her mock-baby voice. “Come out and play, little Harry!” Harry heard her edging back toward the phone box, and he shot another Stunning spell, forcing her to move away again.

This time, she stumbled, and before she could recover, Harry thought of all the pain he knew she had caused, and rage seized him. He straightened up, pointed his wand at her, and yelled, “Crucio!”

Bellatrix screamed. She fell to her knees, but almost immediately bounded back to her feet. “Pathetic!” she yelled, dropping the baby voice and apparently forgetting all about her planned escape. “Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy? You have to _mean_ them. Let me show you!” Harry was too slow to drop back behind the fountain, and she cried, “Crucio!”

Pain ripped through Harry’s body, and he crumpled sideways to the floor. The top half of his body was exposed from behind the fountain, and Bellatrix kept her wand on him. The pain was incredible; he felt as if his bones had been filled with liquid fire. He was twitching, and he dimly felt his breathing start to fail and his mind begin to come apart. It was too much, too much and he was going to go mad under Bellatrix’s wand just like Neville’s parents.

Then, just as Harry thought that the pain could not get any worse, he felt his scar begin to burn, and somehow it cleared away the other aches. He felt a surge of triumph that was not his own, and he opened his streaming eyes to see Voldemort standing with a hand on Bellatrix’s shoulder. She had fallen to her knees, holding up the prophecy to her Master as though in supplication. He took it in his pale, long-fingered hand.

“At last…” Voldemort hissed. “At last I will know the truth.”

“Master,” Bellatrix whispered, “Master, you should know—he is here— he is below…”

But Voldemort ignored her, his snakelike face rapturous as he stared at the prophecy he held in his long, white fingers. He turned toward Harry. 

“And yet, now it seems as if the knowledge will prove unnecessary, for here you are in front of me, Potter. _Avada kedavra_!”

Harry struggled to move, to force his aching muscles into cooperation before it was too late, when he found himself sliding backwards. Voldemort’s emerald-green curse hit the ground uselessly where Harry had been lying as Harry himself slid to a stop beside the lifts. 

“What?” Voldemort shrieked. Then he said, in barely more than a whisper, “ _Dumbledore_!” 

The grille of the lift Harry lay in front of opened, and Dumbledore stepped carefully past him.

“It is too late, you doddering old fool!” Voldemort cackled, “The prophecy is mine!”

“It was foolish of you, to come here tonight, Tom,” said Dumbledore calmly. “The Aurors are on their way.”

“By which time I shall be gone, and you will be dead!” Voldemort spat. 

Harry struggled to his feet and fired a Stunning spell at Voldemort. Voldemort vanished and reappeared on the other side of the partially-destroyed fountain. Dumbledore pointed his wand at the statues in the fountain, which burst into life and scattered. The witch and the goblin charged at Bellatrix, while the wizard and the centaur launched themselves toward Voldemort, trying to grab them and pull them to the floor. The house-elf statue scuttled to the side, away from the battle, and Harry lost sight of it.

Harry raised his wand again, and looked straight into Voldemort’s red eyes. Before Harry could cast another spell, however, his forehead exploded with agony, and he collapsed. The pain was somehow even worse than Bellatrix’s Cruciatus Curse had ever been, so terrible it blinded him, so hideous he barely noticed the cold floor against his skin, and through the pain, Harry felt his lips form words as Voldemort spoke through his mouth.

“Here I am, Dumbledore. Kill me. Kill me, if you have the nerve, and it can all be over.”

It was too much, Harry couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t _feel_ anything except pain that was so all-consuming he could not remember anything else, and in that moment Harry would have welcomed death; would have greeted death like an old friend who had come to take him to see his parents again…

As Harry that thought settled in Harry’s mind, the feeling of the pain changed. The agony was no less at first, but it now felt wistful and almost bittersweet. Then he heard a high-pitched scream, and the pain began to recede. He could feel the wooden floor again, could hear the noises of people. Too many people. What had happened?

“Harry?”

Harry’s vision cleared and Dumbledore’s long, crooked nose swam into focus. He blinked, and tried to focus on his headmaster’s eyes.

“Are you all right?” Dumbledore inquired.

“Yes,” Harry tried to say, but he was shaking so badly he couldn’t get up. “What happened, sir? Where’s Voldemort?” His head fell to one side, and he saw that Floos were open all along the walls of the atrium. The little golden statue of the house elf was leading Cornelius Fudge toward them.

“He was there!” shouted a man with a ponytail, the sleeve of his emerald robes trembling as he pointing toward several piles of golden rubble on the other side of the hall, one marking where Voldemort had stood against the wizard’s and centaur’s charge, the other where Bellatrix had lain trapped only moments before. “I saw him, Mr Fudge, I swear it was You-Know-Who, he grabbed a woman and Disapparated!”

“I know, Williamson, I know, I saw him too!” gibbered Fudge, who was wearing pyjamas under his pinstriped cloak and was panting as though he had just run miles. “Merlin's beard—here!—in the Ministry of Magic! Great heavens above! It doesn't seem possible. My word—how can this be?”

“If you proceed downstairs into the Department of Mysteries, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore quietly, standing up and walking forward so that the newcomers realised he was there for the first time. A few of them raised their wands; others simply looked amazed. “You will find several escaped Death Eaters contained in the Death Chamber, bound by an Anti-Disapparation Jinx and awaiting your decision as to what to do with them.”

“Dumbledore!' gasped Fudge, beside himself with amazement. 'You—what are you doing—?”

He looked wildly around at the Aurors he had brought with him and it could not have been clearer that he was in half a mind to cry, “ _Seize him_!”

“Cornelius, I am ready to fight your men _and win again_!” Dumbledore thundered. “But just a moment ago you saw proof with your own eyes that I have been telling you the truth for a year. Lord Voldemort has returned. You have been chasing the wrong men for twelve months. It is time you listened to sense!”

“I—don't—well—” blustered Fudge, looking around as though hoping somebody was going to tell him what to do. When nobody did, he snapped, “Very well. Dawlish! Williamson! Go down to the Department of Mysteries and see… Dumbledore, you will need to tell me exactly…” his voice trailed off as he stared around at the floor, where the remains of the statues of the witch, wizard, goblin, and centaur were now scattered. The demand ended as a whimpered question. “…What happened?”

“We can discuss that after I have sent Harry back to Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore, turning back toward Harry, who was still lying on the floor.

“Harry—Harry Potter?”

Fudge wheeled around and stared at Harry, whom he had apparently just noticed.

“He—here?” said Fudge, goggling. “Why—what's all this about?”

“I shall explain everything,” repeated Dumbledore, “when Harry is back at school.”

He walked away from the pool to the place where the golden wizard's head lay on the floor after Voldemort had blasted it off. He pointed his wand at it and muttered, “Portus.” The head glowed blue and trembled noisily against the wooden floor for a few seconds, then became still once more.

“Now see here, Dumbledore! You haven't got authorisation for that Portk—” Fudge trailed off at Dumbledore’s look. 

After a moment, Dumbledore turned back to Harry and handed him the golden head. Harry took it. “This will take you back to my office in thirty seconds, Harry. I shall see you there in half an hour, at most.”

Harry held the Portkey, still unable to get up, as Dumbledore addressed Fudge again with a list of demands, including Umbridge’s removal and Hagrid’s return, but his attention was already drifting when he felt the familiar tug behind his navel, and the Atrium had vanished in a whirlwind of noise and colour…

(Adapted from Chapter 35 “Beyond the Veil”, _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ )

* * *

_**The Battle of Hogwarts (2 May 1998)** _

Harry found himself facedown on the ground with Dumbledore’s last words still ringing in his ears. “ _Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?_ ” 

The smell of pine needles filled his nostrils, and he could feel the cold ground beneath his cheek. The hinge of his glasses, which had been knocked sideways when he collapsed, cut into his temple. Every inch of him ached. The place where Killing Curse had hit him felt like the bruise of an iron-clad punch, and he could not move at all. He could hear footsteps and whispers from the direction where Voldemort had stood to curse him, and he heard as well Bellatrix nearly moaning over Voldemort, until a high voice cut across her.

“I do not require assistance. The boy…is he dead?”

Harry began to panic as the attention of everyone in the clearing focused on him, and when Voldemort sent Narcissa Malfoy to examine him, he thought he must surely be discovered, but found that he could move only his eyes. She felt his chest, and he knew his heart did not beat. She held fingers before his mouth, and he knew no breath passed his lips. But then she gazed into his eyes, and he knew she saw life in them.

“Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?” she asked, in a whisper so faint, even Harry almost could not hear her. “Raise your eyes if he is, and keep them there so they do not see.” 

Last Harry had seen, Draco was incapacitated, but safe within Hogwarts’ walls. He obediently rolled his eyes upward behind his unmoving lids. He heard Narcissa exhale with relief, then cry out “He is dead!” The Death Eaters roared with triumph in response. 

“You see?” Voldemort shrieked. “I have killed Harry Potter, and now I am truly invincible! _Crucio_!” Harry’s body was flung into the air by the force of Voldemort’s curse, but the expected pain did not come. He felt nothing at all, and he still could not move his limbs or make himself breathe as his body thudded back to the ground.

Voldemort arranged a procession, with Nagini twined around his neck and Hagrid shuffling behind him carrying Harry’s body. The Death Eaters marched back toward the castle in triumph. Voldemort magnified his voice and called ahead, “Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone. 

“The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters, my Death Eaters outnumber you, the Order of the Phoenix is all but gone, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, along with every member of their families. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. The time has come to establish a new order under Lord Voldemort.

“Now, Hagrid, lay the body here at my feet where he belongs. _Mobilicorpus_!” Harry felt himself rise off the ground, hovering limply. His body still would not move, and his head lolled forward. Voldemort made no attempt to correct this, and each time he gestured with his wand, Harry’s body would soar in that direction before jerking to a halt, like a grotesque puppet.

As the Death Eaters approached the castle, the defenders of Hogwarts came out onto the grounds to face them. Harry heard Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Sirius, and McGonagall all cry, “NO!” at the sight of him. He wished he could call out to them, reassure them somehow that all was not yet lost, but he still could not move. Worse, even if he could move, the motion would surely draw the Death Eaters’ attention as well. Still, being paralyzed frayed his nerves, and he began to wish that he were still unconscious instead of in this strange in-between state. 

The defenders roared and jeered at the Death Eaters, and Harry saw Sirius start to raise his wand. Voldemort waved the Elder Wand and cast a Silencing Charm. Into the sudden, enforced quiet, he screeched, “Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!”

Then Ron yelled back, “He beat you!” and the spell broke. Shouts rose again, and Voldemort tried to silence the crowd by magic for a second time, but to no avail. The crowd began to push forward, and Harry saw that Neville was out in front, his wand outstretched, with the remaining members of Dumbledore’s Army ranged behind him.

“Enough!” Voldemort screeched, and with another flick of the Elder Wand he silenced the crowd again and paralyzed Neville. “You, here, who led them. Who are you?”

Bellatrix cackled, “It is Neville Longbottom, the son of the Aurors! The boy who has been giving Snape and the Carrows so much trouble!”

“Ah, yes, I remember,” said Voldemort. “Will you persist in your folly, Neville Longbottom? Or will you stand forth and join the ranks of my Death Eaters. You are a pureblood; to kill you would be such a waste…” 

His voice trailed off, leaving no one in any doubt that no matter what he said, he cared nothing one way or the other. Yet another flick of the Elder Wand, and the Sorting Hat came soaring out of the window of the Headmaster’s study to land in Voldemort’s outstretched hand. He forced the Hat onto Neville’s head. 

Then he shrieked, “Soon, you will see the fate of those who oppose Lord Voldemort! You, Neville Longbottom, can choose to join me, or become an example of what will happen to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost. 

“I shall place Harry Potter’s body in the marble tomb with that of your old hero Dumbledore, and destroy them both! You will have no more heroes, symbols, or martyrs!” 

As he spoke, Harry’s body floated over toward the tomb. Harry, still quite frozen, could only stare down in horror at the rent in the marble casing where Voldemort must have retrieved the Elder Wand. 

Neville, visibly fighting the Body Bind curse cast on him, bellowed in Voldemort’s face, “I’ll join you when hell freezes over!” He wrenched his arm upward, pointed his wand straight up, and shot a shower of silver sparks into the air. “Dumbledore’s Army!” 

The surrounding crowd sent their own sparks to join his with a deafening cheer. Voldemort’s mouth twisted in fury. He jabbed his wand at Neville, and caused the Sorting Hat to burst into flames. 

The rest of Dumbledore’s Army surged forward, and the Death Eaters raised their wands in response. Neville, still a mere foot away from Voldemort, tore free of the Body Bind Curse entirely, swept the burning hat off his head, reached inside, and pulled out something with a shining silver blade and a glitter of red at the handle.

Gryffindor’s sword swung with a great slash in Neville’s hands: out of the hat, directly toward Voldemort as if trying to take off the Dark Lord’s head. Voldemort jerked backward in surprise, causing Harry to move safely away from the blade’s arc, and at the same time, Nagini reared back to strike at Neville. The sword passed through the thick snake’s neck with no resistance, and it thudded to the ground in two pieces.

Voldemort screamed in fury, pointing his wand at Neville, but Neville parried the Killing Curse with the blade. The metal shuddered angrily, and there was a loud, clear note like a bell, but the moment Voldemort’s attention was divided, Harry started to sink from where he was floating in the air over the tomb, down toward the jagged hole in the stone. Terror seized him, but nobody was paying any attention to what they thought was his lifeless body as the battle began to rage anew.

Sirius aimed a curse at Lucius Malfoy, who ducked and flung away his wand. He took Narcissa by the hand and they sprinted away from the killing field shouting, “Draco!” 

Kingsley and McGonagall leapt forward at once to back up Neville. Hermione and Ginny both fired hexes at Dolohov. Hagrid, still in the midst of the Death Eaters, reached down and lifted McNair bodily, then flung him against the castle wall. He fell to the ground limp, and did not get back up. Percy cursed Rookwood so thoroughly that all his joints bent the wrong way. Behind Percy, George and Lee Jordan leapt forward as one, and slammed Yaxley and Selwyn to the ground. Flitwick, who had hurtled to the top of the castle steps, stood in a loose ring with several Hufflepuff students, to prevent the werewolves led by Greyback from dashing into the Great Hall where they could attack the injured.

And at the center of it all, Voldemort duelled three opponents at once: Sirius, Kingsley, and McGonagall. All of them were fighting their hardest, but Voldemort was equal to all of them. Right next to them, Bellatrix stood face-to-face with none other than Molly Weasley. Bellatrix at first let out a cackle of mad laughter at the sight of her plump, middle-aged challenger, but at the first swipe of Molly’s wand, Bellatrix’s smile twisted into a snarl. Jets of light flew from both wands, and patches of flame erupted from the ground around their feet.

“What will happen to your children when I've killed you?” Bellatrix taunted, leaping over a jet of light that left a metre-long gouge in the dirt behind her.

“You will never— _never!_ —touch our children again!” Molly screamed. Bellatrix started to laugh again, but the sound cut off in a wet, strangled gasp. Molly’s second curse had not missed, and Harry could see Mrs. Weasley’s livid face _through_ the bloody ruin of what had been Bellatrix’s chest, before the body collapsed.

Voldemort screamed, but the sound was drowned out by the thunderous roar of an oncoming crowd larger than either the Hogwarts Defenders or the Death Eaters. Harry’s last sight as his eyes slipped at last into the marble tomb was Charlie Weasley and Horace Slughorn leading a crowd of hundreds toward the battle.

As he slipped down into darkness, he heard Voldemort shriek “To me, my Death Eaters!” in a magnified voice, but the stone walls of the tomb sheltered him from the sound and sights. The noises of the battle faded away, and it seemed that the light visible through the cracked tomb was receding, and the stench of death rose up around him.

(Adapted from Chapter 36 “The Flaw in the Plan”, _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: [Story revised as of 12/18/2014]** : This comprises the original first two chapters, which are collectively the prologue acting as an introduction to this particular AU. You’ll see several points of divergence; this is intentional and they will be followed up on. Thanks for reading.


	2. Détente

When Harry came to, some time later, he panicked immediately from claustrophobia and the gagging stench of decay. Flailing, he scraped his hand on the broken rock hard enough to draw blood. Finally, he grasped the edge and shakily heaved himself up out of the tomb and into the night air. He tumbled to the ground and lay there, feeling the lump of the invisibility cloak still bundled under his robes with the wand he had taken from Draco, last month at Malfoy Manor, a million years ago.

Harry gathered himself slowly, pulled out the invisibility cloak, and drew it over himself. He replaced the wand—which was now technically his, by right of conquest—in its accustomed place up his sleeve. It was an inch shorter than his own Holly wand, but it always felt strangely welcoming to his touch, if not quite familiar.

Everything was very quiet. Moving slowly so that the cloak would not flap around his ankles, Harry started to make his way across the grounds. It was a charnel scene, the turf upturned by many feet to reveal dirt, and the dirt soaked through with tears, sweat, and blood. Harry skirted the place where Bellatrix’s body lay, and after examining another body that proved to be the Death Eater Scabior, he realized that the only bodies left outside were Death Eaters.

That meant that whatever else had happened, the Death Eaters must have been driven back to leave their fallen behind. Hogwarts, then, must have stood. With that, Harry made his way toward the front doors, where he had last seen Flitwick make his stand. The steps were slick with blood and littered with bodies, some of which were partly in wolf-shape. That didn’t make sense, Harry thought, glancing up. It was only a quarter-moon tonight. Something he would need to ask Hermione. Harry’s breath caught as he realized that he didn’t know whether Hermione would be able to answer; didn’t know if she was even… He refused to complete the thought, but strode into the Entrance Hall.

He heard low voices immediately, through the open doors of the Great Hall to his left. Harry stopped in the doorway, and saw that the House Tables had been set up and food had been served, but that each table was filled by students and adults of every House and description. Neville sat at the Hufflepuff table next to Hannah Abbott, the Sword of Gryffindor on the table in front of him. He also saw Narcissa and Draco Malfoy sitting near the door, at the near end of the Ravenclaw table, both looking very uncertain about whether they should be there.

His eyes were drawn, however, to the raised dais where the staff table normally stood. Madam Pomfrey stood at one end, bent over the broken and trembling figure of Anthony Goldstein. Starting in the middle of the dais, however, there was a long row of shapes that were not moving; and grouped around the far end, there stood a small crowd of people with flaming red hair.

Harry couldn’t face it, not yet; he needed quiet, he needed to think. He walked up the marble staircase, and kept the cloak on until he reached the second floor of the Headmaster’s Tower, and only paused when he found himself in front of the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmaster’s office. 

The gargoyle looked very much worse for the wear after the battle. It leaned against the wall of the alcove where it usually stood, one of its arms was missing, its eyes seemed to be squinted shut in pain, and the wall behind it was open to reveal the spiral staircase leading up to the office.

“Er, can I go up?” he asked the gargoyle.

“Go ahead,” the gargoyle grunted, not even bothering to look at him.

Harry climbed carefully past it and walked up the spiral staircase, which did not move like it usually did. Most of the portraits around the walls were empty, presumably down in the Great Hall to commiserate with the rest of the survivors, but directly behind the headmaster’s desk, Albus Dumbledore stood in his frame. Dumbledore looked up as the door opened, and when he saw nobody there, his mouth opened a little, as if he was hesitant to speak. Then he asked quietly, “Harry?”

Harry’s anger toward Dumbledore had mostly faded since the events of that misty, illusory King’s Cross, and the hopeless way that Dumbledore said his name wiped away what little remained of Harry’s ill will.

“I’m here, Professor,” Harry said, removing the invisibility cloak at last. Dumbledore’s smile was tremulous, and his eyes sparkled with tears rather than their usual knowing twinkle.

“I am so very delighted to hear it, Harry. We all heard Voldemort announce your death, and we heard the battle recommence, but I had expected you to make your reappearance immediately and challenge Voldemort once and for all. When you did not, and the Death Eaters fled, I began to fear that I had erred in my guesswork, and that you truly were lost to us.”

“I don’t know what happened, sir,” Harry confessed. Voldemort cursed me like you planned, but I ended up…someplace else. And I saw you there, sir.” As he spoke, he crossed to the headmaster’s desk, where the Pensieve still sat. He pulled back the headmaster’s chair, turned it so that he could see Dumbledore’s portrait, and sat down.

“Saw me?” Dumbledore asked. “After you were hit by the curse, Harry?”

“Yes, sir. You spoke to me; it seemed like a very long time. You told me a lot of things that I had already sort of guessed up to that point, and you begged my forgiveness.”

Dumbledore looked grave and ashamed, “I certainly hope that I did. I will not ask your reply. What else happened, Harry?”

“I asked you where we were, but you told me that I had the answer. And I did: it looked like King’s Cross Station. You told me that I had a choice, to either come back and face Voldemort, or to ‘board a train’ and move on.”

“And, in making that choice, Harry, you have proved yourself a better man than ever I was.”

Harry allowed himself a small smile. “You said something like that, too, sir.”

Dumbledore chuckled, in spite of himself, it seemed to Harry. “Yes, well… What happened when you woke up, Harry?” 

“I was back, but I couldn’t move anything except my eyes. Voldemort brought me back to the front of the castle and tried to use my body to make our side surrender, but of course, they didn’t. Then put my body into your tomb, sir; I think he was going to destroy it and both of us. 

“But Neville pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat, and he killed Nagini. Then everyone started fighting. I saw reinforcements arrive for our side, but I passed out. When I woke up again, I was finally able to move, and I came up here.”

Dumbledore looked very solemnly at Harry. “We must assume that Voldemort knows now, or will very soon, that even the Horcrux he thought we would never find is gone, and that he himself is fully mortal for the first time in half a century. 

“Tonight may very well have been our best chance to finish him once and for all. I confess, I had envisioned that by the time you went to face him, all of the Horcruxes would be destroyed, and that he would either die upon trying to kill you, or that you would kill him thereafter. 

“I do not blame you, and you should not blame yourself; this inability to move upon returning to your body was unexpected and could not have been foreseen. However, the fact remains that Voldemort and his Death Eaters have fled.

“For now, at least, he still believes you are dead, and it may be in our best interest to harbour that impression for a while.” But Harry was already shaking his head. Dumbledore tried to reason with him, “Harry, it may grant us the element of surprise we need to finish him…”

Harry interrupted, “Yes, sir, it might. But I think it would boost morale for our side a lot more to know that I’m back, don’t you?”

Dumbledore thought it over for a moment, then nodded. “Perhaps so. You understand, though, what you are risking by surrendering this tactical advantage? Once Voldemort realizes you are still alive, it probably will not be long before he goes underground.”

“Maybe that will stop some of the random acts of violence,” Harry said, but Dumbledore shook his painted head.

“On the contrary, Harry, it will probably make them come more frequently as he attempts to draw you out. Realizing that you have survived the Killing Curse for a second time will infuriate and terrify him, and he will redouble his efforts to find you and kill you, while at the same time refusing to expose himself to you. By contrast, though, his confidence will be badly shaken if he ever faces you again.”

“You mean ‘when’ he faces me again, sir. There’s no backing down, or running away. Not anymore. I’m not sure there ever was.”

Dumbledore’s eyes were swimming with tears again at Harry’s words. At length, he said, “How are you planning to reveal yourself, then, Harry?”

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but froze. There were cautious footsteps on the stairs leading up to the office, and he heard unidentifiable voices whispering.

“…definitely heard someone talking up there,” someone hissed.

“It’s probably just the portraits,” replied another, slightly higher voice. “Who else would be up here?”

“Should _we_ even be here?”

“I’ve told you, who is there to stop us anymore? Nobody will be up here, and I can’t stand to be around anybody else right now.”

The whispers were right outside the door now. Harry reached for his invisibility cloak, but too late; the door swung open, and the air was rent by a scream.

“ _HARRY_!”

Before Harry could react or process what had happened, he had been yanked out of the chair and was crushed between two sobbing figures. Gasping for breath, Harry managed to wrap an arm around Ron and Hermione and pull them tight against him.

Both of them were babbling.

“How did you—”

“You were—”

“What was—”

“We saw—”

“Voldemort cursed me,” Harry said shortly. “I went away for a while, and now I’m back. Good enough?”

Ron simply nodded, beaming. Hermione, predictably, opened her mouth to start asking questions, but Ron nudged her. Amazingly, she paused, and apparently changed what she was going to say.

“What are we going to tell people? _How_ are we going to tell people? I know you, Harry, you don’t want to go down to the Great Hall, do you? But people need to know; we need to tell Ginny and Luna and Neville and Sirius and…”

“Why don’t you go and get Sirius, Hermione?” said Ron. “Maybe you can figure out some way to slip a note to Neville and Luna, or… No, wait! Just send it to them on their D.A. galleons! Do that after you come back with Sirius, though.”

Hermione nodded, and hurried out of the office again. Harry turned to Ron. 

“Did you just tell her what to do?”

Ron shrugged, looking self-conscious. “It’s like chess, mate. Once you know what the pieces want to do, you just have to let them do it when it fits the strategy.”

Harry sat back down, and Ron sat across from him. The silence was comfortable; neither was quite willing to talk, and neither wanted to press the other. In a few minutes, there was motion from the stairwell again, and Harry heard Sirius’ voice.

“C’mon, Hermione, I’ve followed you this far. What’s this all about?” he said dully, as though all the life and enthusiasm had been sucked out of him.

Rather than answer, Hermione burst into the room ahead of him and took the seat next to Ron before Sirius could even finish coming up the stairs. When he did, he froze in the doorway, staring at his godson.

“Harry…” he said, huskily. And Harry, who throughout his reunion with Dumbledore, Ron, and Hermione, had managed to remain relatively calm, now found his own eyes beginning to sting as he looked up at the man who was like a father and a brother and a comrade and a friend all at once. 

Harry couldn’t think what to say, except, “I saw them, Sirius. The rest of the Marauders. My dad told me to remind you to try to be a little less flighty. Wormtail said that you were right all along, and that he should have remembered that the best times in his life were when he had you to look up to. Moony asked you to take care of Teddy, the way you should have been allowed to take care of me.”

As he spoke, Sirius’ own eyes filled with tears. He sank to his knees, nodding silently, and wept for his lost brothers. Thinking of that led Harry to thoughts not only of Lupin, but of Tonks, Fred Weasley, Colin Creevey, Lavender Brown, Ernie Macmillan, and everyone else who had given their lives tonight.

Dumbledore’s portrait cleared its throat. He had been respectfully quiet during the reunion, and had joined them openly in their grief. Now he directed Sirius to a cabinet beside his frame, and soon they each had a glass of goblin-made brandy.

Harry opened his mouth to ask how Sirius thought he should make his reappearance, when he heard furtive movement again on the stairs. He drew his wand, and the door flew open to reveal Draco Malfoy. Malfoy was not skulking, but glaring at Harry with nearly as much animosity as ever. And yet, Harry thought, there was something more to it, something only visible in the lines on Malfoy’s face, the shadows under his eyes, the haunted expression he had never worn during his time as the Pureblood Prince of Slytherin.

Ron leapt to his feet, pulling out his wand too, but Harry said, “No, Ron.” He shared a glance with Dumbledore’s portrait, then met Malfoy’s gaze squarely. “Can I help you, Draco?”

“Funnily enough, you can, _Potter_.” Malfoy’s pointed use of Harry’s surname was expected. “That’s still my wand you’re pointing at me.”

“Told you, Draco, ‘finders keepers’,” Harry smirked, knowing that using his first name would continue to incense him. To Harry’s surprise, however, Draco didn’t rise.

“ _I_ told _you_ , Potter; the wand I used tonight was my mother’s. Your Order of the Phoenix confiscated it, and when they returned it they returned it to her. I want _my_ wand back. Or are you afraid of what I might do to you like this?” Draco raised his arms, and as his robes shifted, the rest of them saw for the first time that Draco was handcuffed, and that his shirt was drenched in fresh blood.

Hermione stepped forward, her hand already rummaging in her beaded handbag. “If you come here, I’ve got some dittany that will take care of whatever’s wrong until the healers can take a look at-”

“This isn’t my blood, Granger,” Malfoy spat. “It’s…” but he seemed to choke up, and obviously changed what he was going to say. “It should have been mine, though. From a spell cast by one of _yours_ after the battle.”

Harry, for his part, looked at Malfoy for a long moment. True, the wand in his hand was Draco’s, but Harry had won it in a duel, meaning that not only would it would obey him, it was _his_ now in the eyes of the law. His own holly and phoenix feather wand was still irreparably broken. He didn’t know what he would do without Draco’s wand. And yet…

He met Draco’s eyes, and found that they exactly matched his mother’s. Narcissa had lied to Voldemort in exchange for Harry’s word that Draco was alive. Draco had said that her wand was confiscated from him and returned to her, so she must still be in the castle. Lucius would obviously have gone with Voldemort, but Draco was here with his mother. Why? To retrieve his wand? Maybe, but though he approached the subject bluntly, he asked in a way that was, by Malfoy’s standards, perfectly civil. He had clearly gotten away from somewhere he was being kept, handcuffed, and followed Ron and Hermione when he saw them leaving with Sirius. He had followed them specifically, rather than try to retrieve his wand from the tomb where he must have seen Harry’s body deposited. Perhaps he had guessed then, that Harry was still alive, because what else could bring those three away from the Great Hall in the wake of the Battle? And if he had guessed, then he must have known he would have to approach Harry directly. Which could only mean…

“You’re staying, aren’t you?” Harry asked. Malfoy said nothing, but Harry could see the answer in his eyes. “You remembered what Professor Dumbledore told you last year, didn’t you? We can hide your family, Draco. You can fight for the right side.” 

Ron choked, “What!?”, but Harry ignored him. Malfoy said nothing.

Harry stared at Malfoy for a moment longer, then crossed the room. Without any ceremony, he held Malfoy’s wand out on the palm of his left hand, and extended his right. Malfoy’s lip twitched, but then he shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He grasped Harry’s hand, and for the first time after seven years of near-constant animosity, they shook.

“I’m tired of this feud, Potter,” Malfoy sighed, letting out the breath he had taken. “You win. I’ll end this if you do.”

Harry sighed in return. “I agree. There are more important matters to worry about than things said and done when we were eleven.” 

“Then you have my word, Pot—Harry.” 

Harry extended his left hand instead, willingly returning Malfoy’s wand to him. Malfoy—Draco—took his wand back from Harry and left without another word. 

Ron was still sputtering. “Harry…why…you don’t…”

“We have a new ally in the fight against Voldemort, Ron,” Harry said simply, but Ron still looked flabbergasted. Harry thought for a moment, trying to come up with an explanation Ron would accept. “A pawn moved to the last rank and now we have a stronger piece. See?”

“I…I guess so, mate, but how do you know you can trust him?”

“Because he may be a pompous, nasty, bullying, prejudiced, self-righteous git…but he’s not a liar. He gave his word and he’ll keep it.” 

“But what are you going to do now?” Ron persisted. “Your wand is still broken. Ollivander said it couldn’t be repaired, and You-Know-Who still has the Elder Wand!”

Sirius gasped at the mention of the legendary weapon, but Harry continued.

“Yeah, but I figured something out tonight. Remember in the Shrieking Shack, we heard Voldemort complaining that the wand wasn’t working right? He thought he could make it work by killing Snape, but we know from Ollivander that’s not how wands are passed on. Snape was never the master of the wand, because he was working for Dumbledore the whole time. Dumbledore should have died undefeated, but it didn’t work, because somebody disarmed Dumbledore before Snape arrived on the tower last year.”

Hermione gasped. “You mean…Malfoy?”

Harry nodded. “Exactly. So, when I beat Draco a few weeks ago…”

This time, it was Sirius who cut in. “Then, _you’re_ the master of the Elder Wand?” he asked weakly.

“Assuming we can get it away from Voldemort. Right, Professor?” Harry answered, looking at Dumbledore’s portrait.

“I can find no flaw in your reasoning, Harry. In fact, it would go a long way toward explaining what happened to you tonight.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“When Harry entered the Forbidden Forest tonight, he was not only the true owner of the Elder Wand and his own Invisibility Cloak, but also briefly the possessor of the Resurrection Stone that was once set in the Ring of Gaunt.” Dumbledore’s portrait explained. “In other words, one could say that according to the legends, Harry was—”

“Master of Death!” Hermione gasped. Sirius’ face was white, and Ron looked thunderstruck.

Harry didn’t like the sound of that very much, so instead he said, “The Stone let me get past the Dementors in the forest. That’s when I saw my mum, and the Marauders.”

“So what are you going to do about a wand, Harry?” Ron persisted.

“Perhaps I can offer a solution,” Dumbledore cut in, smiling magisterially down at them all. “Come here, Harry.”

Harry crossed the room slowly, and Dumbledore’s portrait swung forward suddenly on hinges to reveal a hidden space. Harry knew from Snape’s memories that the Sword of Gryffindor had been concealed there once, before Snape had left it for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to find, but the sword was downstairs now. Harry looked inside the secret space curiously, and found a small, narrow box. He pulled it out and sat down, recognizing an Ollivander’s case, but not the inlaid signature. It didn’t match the one on his own wand case, which had been signed by Mr. Ollivander when Harry bought his wand just after his eleventh birthday.

At Dumbledore’s painted nod, he opened the case, and found a polished wand of dark wood.

“What’s this, sir?” Harry asked, as Dumbledore swung closed again.

“That, Harry, is a wand which has not been used for more than fifty years, ever since I tamed the Elder Wand in 1945.”

Sirius jerked his head to look at Dumbledore. “You mean…that’s… _your wand_ , Albus?”

With a small smile, Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, indeed. I purchased it myself, at the age of eleven, from Gerbold Ollivander, in 1892. Though I set it aside when I gained possession of the Elder Wand from Grindelwald, this wand always served me faithfully. Judging by its composition, I think that it will do the same for you.”

“What do you mean by ‘its composition’, professor?” Hermione asked.

“I do not pretend to be an expert on wandlore,” Dumbledore replied, spreading his hands. “But Gerbold said as much when I purchased it from him.”

“What’s it made of, sir?” Harry asked, still staring at the dark wand.

“Fir,” Dumbledore replied, “and dragon heartstring. You see, there is a story in the Ollivander family—and I expect Garrick would be able to tell you in better detail than I—that Gerbold only ever sold three wands made of fir in his life…but that each of those three wizards later passed safely through mortal peril. For that reason, the Ollivander family refers to fir wands as ‘the Survivor’s wand’. I think it rather apropos for Harry, don’t you agree?” He smiled gently, and they all returned it rather weakly. Sirius shook his head.

“Only you, Harry, could walk to your death, converse with those who have passed on, and then bounce right back.” His godfather’s eyes were full of tears again, and Harry realized that without him, Sirius would have been left all alone in the world.

He moved over to Sirius, intending to put a hand on his shoulder, but Sirius grabbed him and hugged him roughly, before straightening up with his hands on Harry’s shoulders. They were almost of a height, and Sirius looked into Harry’s eyes very seriously. 

There was no trace of his characteristic humour in his voice as he said, “You deserve the rest, Harry, after what you’ve been through. Especially this year.” Harry’s eyes suddenly burned with unshed tears, and his throat constricted with he didn’t know what emotion. “I expect you three are going to head off on your own again?” 

“We’re going to have to,” Harry replied. “If we stay here, it will make Hogwarts even more of a target.”

“I agree,” Sirius cut in. Harry was astonished at first by the simple agreement. Then he wondered if Sirius was going to demand to go along with them. He immediately began marshaling his arguments against it, but when Sirius continued, he said nothing of the sort. “If Voldemort goes underground, the reign of terror will only get worse. Hogwarts needs to be a haven. We’ll get started on rebuilding right away, and make this headquarters. Once we’ve established, you three should be ready to move out again.”

“But won’t it be dangerous for You-Know-Who to know exactly where everyone is?” said Ron.

“I didn’t say we were going to advertise it,” Sirius replied. “But we need somewhere defencible to bring refugees, and Hogwarts fits the bill. Voldemort used up most of his strength besieging the castle tonight; if he tries to do it again, even our weakened defenders will be able to hold him back.

“But,” Sirius went on, “That’s neither here nor there for you three. It’s time you all took a more active role in the Order of the Phoenix and…what did you decide to call it? Dumbledore’s Army?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m not in charge of that anymore. It’s Neville who’s running them now.”

“Yes, Frank and Alice’s son. He’s got his father’s build, but damn if he doesn’t look just like his mother.” Sirius shook his head to break his own reverie, and continued, “I’ve had a word with this DA, and while I heard some grumbling about how you’d been gone all year, I also heard that they still consider you their Commander-In-Chief. If you want to leave Neville in charge of day-to-day command, fine, but those kids need to see you, Harry. A lot of them laid down their lives tonight. Don’t ask the rest of them to die for a stranger.”

Harry’s stomach clenched. “I didn’t want any of them to die for me!” he shouted, but Sirius held up a hand to head him off.

“Do you think James would have wanted me to die for him? Of course not. But that doesn’t change the fact that I would have done it in an instant. This isn’t about what you _want_ , Harry, it’s about what you mean to people. You’re ‘The Boy Who Lived’ all over again, and this time you weren’t just a baby. Like it or not, you’re a symbol of this resistance to Voldemort’s pureblood supremacy. The wizarding world is slipping into darkness, and you need to be there to be its light.

“Most people still see me as a convict. Dumbledore is gone. There’s no one else left who can reach out to as many people as you, Harry. It’s up to you to take up the banner and do the right thing.”

Harry sighed. “At least I can use my celebrity for something good, this time.” He turned to Hermione. “Did you tell Neville and Luna yet, Hermione?”

“Yes, of course. They’re both taking care of others at the moment, though.”

“I’ll need Neville, at least, up here. I’d like to see Luna as well, but maybe you should ask her to look after Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys…”

Ron cut in, “Harry, you don’t want to keep from Ginny that you’re okay. She’ll hex you so bad you’ll wish you were dueling Voldemort again.”

Harry hesitated, then nodded. “Have Luna bring her up, then, if she can extricate her from the rest of the family. I want to have a plan worked out before I go back down to the Great Hall.”

Hermione pulled the DA Galleon out of her pocket again, and Harry turned to Sirius. “I want to talk to Kingsley as well, assuming he survived. Oh, and Professor Slughorn too, if you can find him. Send them up here; I’ll need their help coming up with that plan. Try to be discreet.”

Sirius blinked at him in surprise, then let out a chuckle that was almost his old bark-like laugh. “Harry, when have you ever known me to be less than discreet?” Rather than wait for an answer, he bounded to his feet, transformed into an enormous black dog, and bounded out the door.

Hermione was still staring intently at the fake galleon. “Neville says he’ll come, Harry, but he’s looking in on someone right now. Luna didn’t send an actual reply, but she warmed up the galleon to show that she got the message.”

“Why are you bringing Slughorn, Harry?” Ron asked.

“Well, to go over everybody: I think it’s obvious why I want you two here. Same goes for Ginny. Neville is in charge of the DA these days, whatever Sirius says; he knows what they’re capable of far more than I do. I expect Luna will give us a perspective we’d never consider otherwise. Kingsley is the best auror we’ve got, and Slughorn is both clever and well-connected. Here, because this is where Dumbledore’s portrait is, and I’ll want his input as well.” 

Ron looked very thoughtful at that. Hermione stood up and, at Dumbledore’s urging, began to examine the books on his shelves. Harry leaned back into the chair and shut his eyes.

* * *

Ginny arrived first. She was several minutes ahead of Luna, having sprinted the entire way. She flung herself into Harry’s lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. Both of them ignored Ron’s heavy sigh, and the yelp he let out when Hermione kicked him sharply in the shin. Harry, for his part, just held her against him, feeling the tension in her back, taking in the smell of her hair and the feeling of her tears soaking the shoulder of his robes. He wouldn’t give her up again for anything, he vowed silently. Never, ever again.

Luna, for her part, merely sat quietly in a chair Hermione conjured for her. Kingsley, who appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, merely nodded respectfully to Harry, and sat down beside Luna.

Less than a minute later, they heard heavy, tired footfalls on the stairs, and Neville came in. He looked equal parts exhausted and furious, and refused the chair Hermione indicated. He stood beside the door, his hands folded on the Sword of Gryffindor resting point-down between his feet, and glared at Dumbledore’s portrait.

Before Harry could ask what that was about, Sirius returned with Slughorn in tow, but the two of them weren’t alone. Into the office right on their heels came Professor McGonagall. She fixed Harry with a gimlet eye, and said, “I’m very glad to see you’re all right, Potter,” in a voice that promised dire words later. 

“Yes, yes,” Slughorn puffed. “Delighted you’re back, Harry m’boy. Truly delighted.”

Ginny gave him one final squeeze, then got up and took a seat on Luna’s other side. Harry sighed, before sitting up straight and turning to face them properly over the desk. He took Dumbledore’s fir wand from the box, and pointed it at his own chair. It began to hover an inch above the ground and move to his left, so that Dumbledore’s portrait would not be obscured by the back of his chair. When he settled to the floor again, he slipped the wand up his sleeve, and placed his hands on the desk.

“Voldemort is mortal now,” he declared to the assembled people without preamble. “He has not been mortal for many years, ever since he began creating Horcruxes, which allowed him to store pieces of his soul outside his body.” Oddly, only the adults reacted. Kingsley blinked sharply, McGonagall gasped aloud, and Slughorn gave an odd kind of groan. Harry ignored them all. 

“He intended to make six Horcruxes, originally,” he pressed on. “His own diary, which I destroyed in my second year. A ring that belonged to his grandfather, Marvolo Gaunt, which Professor Dumbledore destroyed last year. A locket belonging to Salazar Slytherin, which Ron destroyed in January. A chalice which had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, which we stole from Gringotts last night, and which Hermione destroyed before the Battle last night. A diadem once owned by Rowena Ravenclaw, which was destroyed by Fiendfyre just before the Battle started. And finally, that snake of his, Nagini, which Neville killed with the sword of Gryffindor.

“According to Professor Dumbledore,” Harry inclined his head toward the portrait on the wall, “Voldemort also accidentally created a seventh Horcrux, on Halloween night, sixteen years ago. When the Killing Curse rebounded on him that night in Godric’s Hollow, his spirit was blasted from his body. It was unable to move on thanks to the other Horcruxes, and a piece of it attached to a nearby living soul.” He paused here, and tapped the lightning scar on his forehead. Sirius and Professor McGonagall looked horrified. Kingsley was nodding thoughtfully, and Slughorn had his eyes shut tight.

“That final piece of soul was evicted tonight,” Harry finished. “The plan, such as it was, was for me to take the curse, so that the final soul fragment would be destroyed, and then kill Voldemort in turn. Unfortunately, I was not able to do so, and now he’s on the run.

“I know this Battle was devastating, but it was for the enemy as well. Professor Dumbledore is right: once Voldemort finds out that I survived, he’s going to go into hiding, and he’s going to be nearly impossible to corner, so we’ll need to make a plan to track him down quickly…” McGonagall looked appalled, and Kingsley was already shaking his head, but the objection came, surprisingly, from Neville. 

“You can’t be serious, Harry.” His tone brooked no argument. He pulled a scrap of parchment from his pocket. From what Harry could see from across the room, it was covered with names. “At least fifty D.A. members died tonight,” Neville said flatly. “That’s not even counting anyone that was lost among the Order of the Phoenix, the teachers, the civilian reinforcements, the centaurs, and the house elves. The bodies are still lined up in the Great Hall. Some of those who survived this far are still going to die from complications and lack of Healing, because Madam Pomfrey can’t be everywhere at once. And you want us to try to rally everyone with another brilliant plan? After the way the last one turned out?” His hands tightened on the hilt of the sword, and he looked ready to spit at Dumbledore’s portrait.

Harry just stared at Neville. He had been expecting support from that quarter, not hostility. “Neville, what…?”

“We trained, and fought, and bled, and died for this. For the school. For him. For you! What do we have to show for it? Besides a stack of bodies?” he snarled. “Wands? Horcruxes? Prophecies? What happened to ‘neither can live while the other survives’? Was I ever _anything_ , or was it all Harry all along?” Neville wasn’t talking to them anymore; he was shouting at Dumbledore’s portrait. “What kind of sick idea was it letting Snape have this school? Why did everything have to be a bloody secret? Why couldn’t you ever just tell anyone what was going on, and let us make up our own damn minds!?” 

He had leaned forward at the end, putting his weight on Gryffindor’s sword, which sank several inches through the carpet and into the stone floor. Neville hardly seemed to notice, turning on his heel and beginning to pace up and down the office, tossing his head like his own bulldog patronus.

Harry was speechless, and so, it seemed, was Dumbledore. His eyes sparkled again with unshed tears as they followed Neville’s progress, but he said nothing. After a moment, it was McGonagall who spoke up. “Longbottom, you were in the right tonight to demand that the students in your organization be allowed to stay. I don’t think any of us can disagree with that anymore.” Neville froze at her words.

Kingsley spoke up. “Agreed,” he said in his deep drawl. “We were nearly overrun before Creevey brought your people back, and they all fought like heroes.”

“And now the ones who didn’t die like heroes will bleed out wishing they had,” Neville said bitterly.

“We need to get healers here,” said Ron. Everyone turned to look at him. His ears turned red, but he didn’t hesitate. “We can’t evacuate everyone to Saint Mungo’s; there’d be no way to secure it. But if we can bring enough healers here, we should be able to stabilize people, at least.”

“Ron’s right,” Hermione said, though she sounded very shaken. “It makes the most sense, tactically, to bring the healers to the wounded. Some of them wouldn’t survive the apparition even if we could use Saint Mungo’s.”

Something shifted in Harry’s memory. He turned his head, scanning the portraits on the walls. They had filled back up in ones and twos as word spread that a council was taking place, and now nearly all of the former headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts were gazing down at them. He pointed up at a silver-haired witch, squinting to see the name engraved on the plate under her portrait.

“You. Dilys Derwent. You have a portrait at Saint Mungo’s, right?” The portrait nodded, looking down at him curiously. “Do you think you could go there ahead of us and give a warning to the healers? The new shift should be arriving soon, and we’ll need to head them off before they send the overnight shift home.” Dilys continued to stare at him, so he added, “Please?”

After a moment, she nodded again, and stepped sideways out of her frame, disappearing from sight. 

Harry turned back to the assembled people. “Good, now I don’t expect they’ll send over a bunch of healers just at the word of a portrait, so I think Kingsley and Professor Slughorn had better get over there as soon as we’re done here.

“Now then,” Harry continued, but he hesitated. All of them were staring at him. “What?” he asked defensively.

Neville replied. “You’re getting the voice of command right, Harry. You’re snapping orders and they sound _right_. Like the way you gave instructions in the first D.A..”

“Well,” Ron cut in, grinning, “the way you did when you weren’t being an over-sensitive prat about being in charge.”

“Don’t stop,” Neville encouraged him. “It’s what we all need right now, I think. To be told what to do.” He didn’t smile as he once might have done, but Harry felt the hostility between them diminish a bit.

“Then tell me what’s wrong, Neville,” Harry said sharply, studying Neville intently as the taller boy threw his shoulders back. It looked like Neville was going to snarl back at him, but he visibly stopped himself and shook his head.

“Harry, you three are sitting safe right here.” He started softly, but his voice growing in strength with every word. “You may have all had a bad time of it on the run, but your best friends are still together. One of _my_ two best friends died tonight. The other one is down in the Room of Requirement right now, monged out of his mind, because he just lost _his_ best friend, and he thinks it didn’t have to happen. I’m not sure I can convince myself otherwise, much less him. So many lost…and half of us shouldn’t have died!

“Half you you shouldn’t have _lived_!” Ron snapped with uncharacteristic harshness. “According to Seamus, you lot were planning a do-or-die final stand at the end of term without Harry or Dumbledore or anyone else.”

“We didn’t have a choice!” Neville bellowed back. “We thought we’d been abandoned! No one told us anything! How were we supposed to trust in any kind of higher plan that resulted in _Snape_ running the school? We’ve been through hell this term. You have too, I know, but that doesn’t mean that we haven’t. We had no idea if any of you were coming back, or if Dumbledore had any kind of plan at all, or… You don’t know what it was _like_ , being here, with that bastard in control!” Neville’s face was twisted in hate as he struggled to find words for what the ex-Potions Master’s reign had been like. Dumbledore’s portrait had its face buried in its hands.

“If he'd known you like you are now, Neville, I'm sure he would have told you something,” Hermione began, but Ron took over.

“—but when he was alive to make the decisions, you _weren't_ a leader, there _wasn't_ a reason to tell the rest of Hogwarts anything.” Ron couldn't keep an edge of sarcasm back as he continued. “As for Snape and Hogwarts… How was Dumbledore supposed to have known how Snape would run the school? Do you honestly think it would have been better if those Carrows were flat-out in charge? No one ever said he _liked_ Snape, just that he used him, and he'd have been an idiot not to.”

Neville was staring at Ron, but he seemed to deflate before their eyes. He crossed back to where he had been standing, wrenched the sword out of the floor, and flopped down into the seat Hermione had conjured for him. He placed the sword across the arms of the chair, and rested an elbow upon it as he held his face in his hand.

“Now,” Harry said, returning to the business at hand. “We need to fortify the castle, especially if we’re bringing healers here. We can use the recovery time to do that while those of us who are still on our feet use the time to rally our allies. We have Grawp on our side, and by the way the battle turned out, I think the centaurs must have joined in. We’ll need to approach them, and someone needs to go to the house elves as well. I don’t like the idea of them fighting, but after what happened to Dobby, I think we can convince them to stand with us. If they choose to,” he hastily added, seeing the look on Hermione’s face.

“After that, we’ll need to reach out to the goblins. The majority of them seem to have sided with Voldemort, but that doesn’t mean they all have, and goblins are vicious and clever. I want that ingenuity on our side.”

“You should talk to Bill about that,” said Ginny. Harry nodded.

“Agreed. I think he was starting on that during our summer at Grimmauld Place, but with Voldemort out of sight, it was hard to convince them of any urgency. Now, they can’t exactly pretend that nothing’s going on, and we have the example of what he did to the messenger when he found out that we’d burglarized Gringotts.”

“Don’t you think that’ll be a problem, though, Harry?” Hermione said worriedly.

“Yeah, I do,” said Harry, “But compare us to Voldemort, and I think we’re the lesser of evils as far as the goblins are concerned. The centaurs should be much more approachable.”

“Hagrid could do that,” said Ron.

“All right,” Harry said. Seeing movement from the corner of his eye, Harry stopped and looked up. Dilys Derwent had returned to her frame, nodding. 

“Thank you, Dilys. Professor Slughorn, Kingsley, head to Saint Mungo’s now and start bringing healers through into the Great Hall. Light a bonfire if you have to; we need them here _fast_. 

“Professor McGonagall, start marshaling everybody who’s still on their feet into two groups. One group, under Percy, to act as runners to assist the healers however they ask, the other to pick up Professor Flitwick and start fortifying the castle again. 

“Ginny, go and talk to Bill, please. If he wants to leave immediately, see if he’ll take Luna with him.” Luna nodded dreamily, and Harry knew he’d made the right decision sending her. “Ron, go with Hagrid to the centaurs. Take Charlie with you, too. Hermione, head down to the kitchens and talk to the house elves. Tell them you’ve come from me, but please stick to the plan. We’ll have time for S.P.E.W. when Voldemort is dead.

“Sirius, do you remember that mirror you gave me a few years ago? Was that enchantment based on a Protean Charm as well?”

“Of course,” said Sirius.

“We’ll need a better way to communicate than Floo or even those galleons, especially since we don’t need the subtlety of coins anymore. See if you can think of something.”

“No problem, Harry.” He glanced around. “The books in here might be useful, too.”

“What about me, Harry?” Neville asked, sounding halfway between impressed and resentful.

“In the long term, you’re keeping control of the D.A. They’ll follow you sooner than they will me. Right now, though, you and I are going to have a long talk with Professor Dumbledore.”

The next few minutes were filled with hustle and bustle as the weary survivors left the room to go about the duties he had assigned. Sirius began pulling certain books from the shelves, and Neville crossed the room to perch on the edge of the desk as Harry turned the chair to face Dumbledore’s portrait once more.

“Very well then, Harry, Neville,” the portrait said quietly. “What is it you need to know?”

* * *

As Harry and Neville walked silently together down the marble staircase into the entrance hall, they heard McGonagall’s magically-magnified voice speaking over the babble of the Great Hall.

“Everyone please back away from the injured on the staff podium, and stay well back from the bonfloo. I know you are all eager to help the healers in their work now that you have eaten, so you will be divided up into teams to assist them once they have completed a triage.” Harry and Neville both stopped in the doorway. Nobody was looking at them, their eyes fixed either on Professor McGonagall, or on the enormous crackling green flames beside the raised podium, which were disgorging healers and mediwizards at an incredible rate. By the look of it, most of the staff of Saint Mungo’s had risen to the occasion.

“Now, from this moment forward,” Professor McGonagall continued, “as far as we are concerned, Hogwarts School is is now the capital of the Wizarding World which has not fallen under the sway of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I shall act as Headmistress here for the time being. It may be some time before classes resume, but there will still be many opportunities to learn, and I expect you all to pay attention, as both your own survival and others’ may depend on it!”

Her eyes swept the Hall fiercely before she continued. “I shall also act as an official liaison between Hogwarts School and the Order of the Phoenix, a society opposing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, founded by the late Professor Dumbledore. The Order of the Phoenix will now follow Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt.” She swept a hand at Kingsley, who was deep in conversation with Sirius and Arthur Weasley. Kingsley raised a hand in acknowledgement, but did not stop talking rapidly to the two in front of him.

McGonagall looked across the hall at Harry and Neville, both standing quietly by the doors, and went on. “The Order of the Phoenix will shortly be incorporated with the society currently operating in the school, known as Dumbledore’s Army. The Order, under Auror Shacklebolt, shall act as an intelligence division. Direct command of Dumbledore’s Army, however, shall fall to…” McGonagall hesitated for half a second, in which Harry quickly pointed at Neville, beside him.

“Neville Longbottom,” Professor McGonagall finished, so smoothly that her pause may not have existed at all.

Neville half-glanced at Harry, and realized what had happened. He started to open his mouth, but Harry hissed, “I told you, they’re yours. I’m not about to try to take them away from you. They wouldn’t listen to me, anyway.” Then, before Neville could protest, Harry held a finger to his lips as McGonagall started again.

“With Hogwarts now the de facto base of operations for those of us who oppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, we must do two things. First, we must bring all of your families and other friends into Hogwarts safely and swiftly. It is not safe for anyone to remain outside, and no longer possible for anyone to remain neutral. Either you stand with us, or you stand with the Ministry and the Death Eaters! They place their hope in their Dark Lord, and in the supposed superiority of their homogeny. Hogwarts, though, has always stood for diversity, accepting students of every origin, and we have found ourselves far stronger for it!

“During the triage today, we will enlist every person who can walk to assist the healers in any way they instruct. Starting tonight, we will begin bringing your loved ones safely here. Beginning first thing tomorrow, you will be arranged in work parties and set about rebuilding and re-fortifying the castle such that if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named tries to return, he will break his ranks on our walls without coming anywhere near us!”

At this, the assembled crowd, which had been completely silent up to this point, let out a cheer. Professor McGonagall raised a hand for silence, which gradually returned.

“I can see you are all eager to get to work,” she said, and Harry could have sworn she sounded almost sardonic. “So, I shall keep you only a moment longer. Teachers, you may come to me with questions. The Order can of course approach Auror Shacklebolt. Dumbledore’s Army, I direct you all to your Commander. Finally…” At this, McGonagall met Harry’s eyes again. Harry sighed, but nodded. McGonagall nodded back. “Finally, while I prefer that you do not pester him while he is working toward the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I believe you should also be aware that Hogwarts, the Order of the Phoenix, and Dumbledore’s Army will be operating under the direction of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lives!”

With this, McGonagall waved her wand at Harry with a flourish. A light appeared over his head, shining down on him, and the crowd seemed to ripple as every head turned at once, and disbelief spread over every face. Harry raised one hand a little awkwardly, and the tumult broke over him like a bomb.

“Harry! HE’S ALIVE!” the crowd roared and screamed and cheered, and the applause ringing throughout the room was thunderous enough to make the windows rattle.

It was a long time before the clapping and cheering subsided, and everybody began to sit back down. Harry and Neville then began making their way across the Hall. They passed Professor McGonagall, and Neville went with her to being the division of labor to help the healers tonight. Harry continued to where Sirius was still standing with Kingsley and Arthur. He approached quietly, but Sirius put a hand on his shoulder, and Arthur hugged him tightly.

Harry, who would have expected such from Mrs. Weasley, was confused for a moment until Arthur straightened up, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses, and said in a strained voice, “You mustn’t blame yourself, Harry. You must know that Molly and I don’t, and neither does George. The Weasleys will always stand beside you.”

“Well said, Arthur,” Kingsley put in. “Harry, I’ve just been filling in Sirius and Arthur on the current status of the Ministry, such as it is.”

“What status?” Harry asked.

Kingsley smiled, a bit grimly. “Precisely. The Ministry has fallen entirely, Harry. Some of the workers who stayed before, trying to remain neutral, have gone into hiding, but the rest have been put under the Imperius Curse. Those who couldn’t be controlled by magic are locked up and tortured. I expect Voldemort to declare himself the ruler of Magical Britain any day now, especially since he’ll need to reestablish himself as still being firmly in control, in the wake of losing the battle here.”

“We’ll need to find those in hiding, then, if we can,” Harry said. “They can’t hide anywhere better than here, especially once we secure this place properly. I’ll have to talk to Professor Flitwick about that, actually. We’ll need to put all of Hogwarts under the Fidelius Charm, if it can be done.

“What I think you should focus on, Kingsley, is how and where we can raid and rescue the Imperiused and the abducted.” Harry felt very awkward issuing orders to the older and more experienced Auror, but Kingsley nodded encouragingly, so he persevered. “I want the first wave of those raids to happen all together, and after that, staggered so it seems like we’re everywhere at once. We’ll evacuate them here, and grow our own ranks.” Kingsley nodded again.

Harry turned to his godfather. “Sirius, can I trust you to work with the D.A. to coordinate the timing of those raids?”

Sirius cuffed Harry’s shoulder. “Of course, Harry.”

“Then you’ve got until Kingsley is ready to go, to figure out that communications issue. I think if you recruit Hermione and some of the remaining Ravenclaws, you should be able to come up with something workable pretty quickly.”

Harry looked toward Arthur, preparing to tell him that he should go to his family, but he was interrupted by an awkward but determined cough. Standing behind him was Zacharias Smith. Harry had never liked Smith much, and knew that the feeling was mutual. Smith had been in the first D.A., but had questioned Harry’s decisions constantly. Judging by the muscle he had put on, he had been part of Neville’s D.A. as well, but from the way he kept his distance from the rest of him, he had either had a falling out with them or he was even more of a stuck-up prat than Harry had believed.

As it turned out, however, the former was the case. “Potter, I…I want a job,” Smith said stiffly. “I know we haven’t always gotten along, and I expect you’ll be displeased when you hear that I didn’t participate in the main battle tonight.” Harry, who had seem Smith pushing younger students aside in order to leave the grounds before the hostilities, opened his mouth, but Smith rushed on. “I tried to convince the D.A. that what we were doing was suicidal, and that it made more sense to bide our time and try to join up with the Order of the Phoenix once we were safely out of school. The Commander and the Secret-Keeper disagreed with me…very strongly.” He shivered. Over Smith’s shoulder, Harry saw Neville striding across the hall toward them, scowling. 

“I was relieved of my position and sent away from the…” he choked for a moment, and Harry realized the Fidelius Charm had activated, preventing him from mentioning the Room of Requirement. A little odd, since Harry knew the secret perfectly well—and wasn’t quite sure why he did. “…The hiding place,” Smith finished, rubbing his throat.

Neville had arrived, but before he could speak, another voice shouted, “ _No way_ , Smith! I told you, I’m never letting you back!”

Everyone jumped. Smith went white as a sheet, and behind him, Neville’s knees buckled as tears poured down his face. Having recognized the voice, Harry turned slowly. Hovering indignantly behind him was the pale, silvery, transparent form of Colin Creevey.

Noticing the silence, Colin broke off glaring at Smith to glance around at them all. His transparent cheeks became more opaque as what would, in life, have been a blush suffused his spectral cheeks. He cleared his throat awkwardly, then turned to Neville. “Er…That is to say…Secret-Keeper Creevey reporting, Commander.”

At the sound of his title, Neville seemed to pull himself together. “Acknowledged,” he said, his voice still uneven. “But that isn’t up to you anymore, Colin.” Colin opened his mouth to argue, but Neville plowed on, “You’re a ghost, Col. You can’t act as Secret-Keeper for the D.A. when magic can’t affect you directly. When you…when you died, the Secret reverted to me and Harry.”

“But,” Colin protested, “Commander, Smith _left_ us!”

“He came back, Colin,” said Neville, his voice eerily calm compared to the young ghost’s rising passion. “He found Charlie Weasley and Professor Slughorn and he brought back reinforcements, which is the only reason we weren’t overrun. I’d say that’s earned him a second chance. What do you think, Harry?”

“Well…” Harry temporized, “If Colin is any indication,the D.A. won’t be pleased to see him right away. Personally, I think Smith had the D.A.’s interests at heart, and he had the guts to approach me about it…maybe we could put him to work with someone else at first?” Harry half-glanced at Kingsley, who nodded. “You want a job, Smith? You want to prove yourself to the D.A., right?” Smith nodded, his jaw tight and tears of regret in his eyes.

“Okay. But I’m warning you, it won’t be a menial one. We have too many priorities. I’m placing you under the direct command of Auror Shacklebolt, here.” He indicated Kingsley. “He’ll give you orders and supervise you to make sure that your absence tonight was well-intentioned, and not…cowardly.”

Smith looked to Kingsley now, and swallowed, but he nodded again. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again and managed to croak out, “Thank you.” He crossed to stand beside Kingsley, who drew him a little to the side and bent slightly to speak into his ear. Harry couldn’t hear Kingsley’s words, but he could see Smith’s face grow both more open and more solemn.

Harry turned back to Colin as the ghost said, eagerly, “Is there anything I can do to help, Harry?”

“Er, can you leave the school grounds, Colin?”

“Only if it’s to visit you or the Commander,” Colin replied. “My highest loyalties, ahead of Hogwarts herself.”

Harry stared at him, and the ghostly cheeks became silvery-opaque again. Deciding not to comment, Harry continued, “All right, Colin. Why don’t you go and marshal the ghosts to take a look at the grounds, and see if any of the Death Eaters out there are shamming Abraham?”

“Sure thing!” Colin chirped, and he soared away.

Neville turned to face Harry, and Harry saw the shock behind the ice in the other boy’s eyes. He was holding it together, but Colin’s appearance had shaken him badly.

“Okay,” Harry said, hoping Neville could take some confidence from his tone. “Nev, how many Ravenclaws do we…do we have left from the D.A.? Anyone specializing in communications?”

“Only Luna, Rachel, and Billy are completely uninjured,” Neville reeled off. “Technically, we also have Tony, Li, Mandy, Lisa, Icarus, and Sinead, but I don’t think the healers are going to let you anywhere near most of them. Maybe Icarus could help… Well, and there’s Marietta Edgecombe as well, if you think she can be trusted,” he finished, his eyes flickering toward Smith. Sirius nodded, and went looking for a figure wearing blue-striped robes.

“No grudges, Neville,” said Harry firmly. “The only person the D.A. have any right to resent is m…”

“Dumbledore,” Neville cut across him, “For not trusting us. And we agreed to let that go.”

“You just have to convince the rest of the D.A. of it,” Harry said, with a bitter smile.

“Never mind that,” Neville said. “If Colin finds any Death Eaters still alive out there, we’ll need somewhere to keep them. Since Professor Slughorn is back, I wonder if any of the Slytherins came back too? I swear I saw Malcolm…” He broke off and scanned the Great Hall.

“We can’t ask them to be the Death Eaters’ jailers,” Harry said. “Too many of them are close friends and family. I say put the best Hufflepuffs you have left on that job.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking, but I’ll need to replace Justin, Bernie, and Emma as Healers’ assistants, and I figure the least the Slytherins can do is fetch water for the injured.” 

“Good thinking.”

Harry looked around. He saw Hagrid, Ron, and Charlie leaving the Great Hall with Firenze, whose flank was bandaged. He even thought he recognized Ludo Bagman and Gwenog Jones, both in Quidditch robes, standing shoulder to shoulder with Oliver Wood as they passed conjured buckets of water from hand to hand. Almost everyone in the Great Hall was occupied now, following the tasks set to them by Percy and the Healers. Neville suddenly stiffened. Harry followed his gaze, and realized his glare was directed at Malfoy. Neville made to start across the room, but Harry grabbed the back of his robes.

“He’s with us now, Neville.”

Neville’s face was incredulous. “You can’t be serious, Harry.”

“If you won’t accept it from me personally,” said Harry through gritted teeth, “Then consider it an order from the Commander-In-Chief. As far as I can tell, he’s part of the D.A. anyway. I can feel the Secret.” Harry tapped his chest over his heart.

“We only included him so that he couldn’t give us away to the Death Eaters through the Fidelius Charm! You can’t trust him, Harry!”

“I can. I do, as far as it goes. Leave him be, and make sure the rest of the D.A. does too. I mean it, Neville.”

Neville spun on his heel and stalked away, leaving Harry by himself. He had barely taken a breath, however, when he was instead accosted by The Grey Lady, the ghost of Ravenclaw tower. Harry managed to stop before he walked through her, but before he could even open his mouth, she was talking.

“We’re all working with your Mister Creevey, Harry Potter. As you no doubt noticed, my tower has fallen, but at least one of the students who was atop it is still alive: Cho Chang is buried in the ruins.”

Without waiting to hear more, Harry spun on his heel to face the dais where Percy was standing, directing teams of workers.

“Percy! Send a team to follow the Grey Lady, now!” he roared.

“Team Eight, go,” Percy barked without missing a beat. Four students handed their buckets to classmates and sprinted after the retreating Ravenclaw ghost.

Harry climbed up onto a bench, then directly onto the Hufflepuff House table before he spotted the top of Professor Flitwick’s hat, where he stood huddled with Professors McGonagall and Sprout. He hopped down and politely tapped Flitwick on the shoulder.

“Ah, Harry, just the man I was hoping to see,” the tiny Charms Master squeaked. “I was told you were looking for me, but you’ve been quite busy. What can I help you with?”

“I was wondering, Professor, if it would be possible to place the entire castle under the Fidelius Charm, to protect us all from Voldemort.”

“The _entire_ castle? My goodness, no. There are altogether too many wards, charms, and enchantments woven into the very stones of the castle herself, which would interfere with any attempt to conceal it like that.”

“There’s got to be some way to secure the castle, Professor, or what good is it as a headquarters?” said Harry.

Flitwick stroked his chin. “Hmmm… Perhaps there is, dear boy, perhaps there is. Alas, if only I could consult with some of my students on this. Corner and Boot would relish the opportunity…” His eyes filled with tears, but his voice was steady as he continued. “I shall have to consult with Albus’ portrait, but I think we may be able keep the castle safe if we modify some of the enchantments that already exist. If, for instance, we were to tamper with the spell that causes Muggles to see only a ruin, I think perhaps we could project an image of a collapsed and empty Hogwarts to outsiders.”

“I think that could work, Professor. Let Percy and Neville know if you need any more wands.” Flitwick nodded in agreement, apparently lost in thought as he murmured, “Yes, that could work…though, the Taboo remains in effect, so we shall have to maintain a moratorium on saying the Dark Lord’s name.”

Harry turned to McGonagall.

“Profes—I mean, Headmistress—”

“‘Minerva’, if you wish, Harry. You aren’t my student right now,” she said, kindly.”

Harry didn’t think he would ever be able to bring himself to call Professor McGonagall by her given name, so he just said, “R-right… I’ve got two things in mind right now. First, you’d better pass along that message about the Taboo, or we’re all going to be tripping over ourselves trying to put our defenses back up every time someone says the name. Second, I know it’s too soon to raise a monument or have any kind of proper service, but do you think you can call for a moment of silence at dinnertime, assuming the injured are stabilized by then? I think it’s important.”

“I agree,” she said. “I shall consult with Mister Longbottom on how he thinks it should be gone about.”

His last idea now put into action, Harry was momentarily at a loss as to what to do next. He was about to join Neville with the water-bearers, but before he could do so, he saw a vaguely-familiar figure limping up the Hall toward him.

He stared at the man, who appeared to be staring directly back at him. After a moment, Harry recognized the one-eyed beggar who had accosted them the previous day in Diagon Alley. Hermione had been under Polyjuice potion, so the man had been shrieking at what he had thought was Bellatrix LeStrange. 

There was something else, though. The beggar was a crutch under one arm now, which he had not carried in the Alley, and there was something familiar about the way he was limping. The crutch made a dull _thud_ on every other step he took, and suddenly the memory crashed into Harry’s mind. His mouth dropped open as the beggar stopped in front of him, scratching at the bandage over his left eye.

“What’s the matter, Potter?” the beggar growled, his voice quite different from the high-pitched screech of yesterday. “Don’t recognize me? Even now, you’re caught off-guard? I know you were taught better than that. Always be prepared, always be alert and watchful, and always—always, Potter— _Constant vigilance_!” 

The beggar’s face was changing even as he spoke. His uncovered eye became dark and beady; his hair lengthened and turned grey. Wrinkles seemed to be deepening in his cheeks even as Harry looked at him, but then the lines whitened into scars, which crisscrossed his face. Harry was speechless as the thin pencil-shaped nose of the beggar became beaklike, and characteristically misshapen, as though a large chunk of it was missing. 

“Now then…” said Mad-Eye Moody, tapping at his bandaged left eye socket. “I’m going to need your help retrieving something of mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: [Story revised as of 12/18/2014]** No actual new content yet (that starts next chapter) but I’d gotten to thinking about my current style of writing fic, and how this story as it had been posted didn’t really match, especially given the shortness of the chapters. It was bothering me a lot, so I came back and fixed it. I think it flows a lot better now. Future chapters will be decent length, (this one being slightly above-decent), so look forward to that. I did a bit of tweaking to help settle the logic of this world, but that’s it. Next time, we’re skipping ahead a little and diving in.
> 
> Also, the following review was unfortunately lost in the overhaul, so I have preserved it (and my reply) here instead:
>
>>   
> **HunterPeverell** // Tue 30 Sep 2014 01:11AM EDT  
>  Siriusly, how does this not have more kudos and comments? This is flipping amazing. Wow just . . . this whole 'verse. I love how you're basing off of those freaking awesome wanted posters (are you leading up to that? Because I really want to know why Ginny is suspected of arson) and how this universe is slightly different from the canon verse. I hope you update--this is a work of art!
>
>> > **BackslashEcho** // Tue 30 Sep 2014 08:36AM EDT  
>  Thanks! Yes, this 'verse is not forgotten; just outnumbered by the sheer ridiculous of the crossover I've been playing around in.  
> And yes, the idea is to build up to the wanted posters! Because I think all of them are completely believable. So, we shall see what drives Ginny over the edge...or how she gets framed... :3c


	3. Counterattack

“GET DOWN!” Harry roared.

The Healer sprinting ahead who he was covering, whom he vaguely recognized as one of the trainees who had helped to heal Mr. Weasley after his run-in with Nagini in Harry’s fifth year, dropped to the floor and slid in a a football tackle Harry thought he had once seen Dean Thomas demonstrate. The Killing Curse impacted the wall over the Healer’s head instead as he quickly rolled out of sight.

Inspired, Harry tried the same move as he approached the Death Eater who had burst into the hallway between him and the Healer. Before the masked figure could bring his wand to bear on Harry, Harry’s outstretched foot slammed into the man’s ankle, and the unpleasant sound of crunching bone rang out.

The Death Eater fumbled his wand as he fell to the floor in pain. Harry scooped it up, kicked the Death Eater hard in the masked face, yelled “ _Stupefy_!” with both wands pointed at him, and then sprinted ahead once more.

“Come on!” he hissed as the Healer fell in beside him again. “We’ve done what we came for; let’s get out of here!”

He pushed the Healer ahead of him toward his chosen extraction point: the Minister’s private floo on the top floor of the Ministry of Magic.

“ _Stupefy_!” Harry shouted again, pointing both wands he now carried down the hallway in each direction before quickly ducking back inside the doorway as the Healer was whipped out of sight by emerald flames.

“ _Colloportus_!” Harry coughed out, and the door to the office sealed. Not a moment too soon, either, for sounds like cannon fire began to rattle the frame immediately.

Harry flung his own pre-measured Floo Packet into the fire, and backed into it with his wand still covering the door. Apparently the Death Eaters knew better by now than to waste time trying to unlock a door Harry had sealed, because they instead blasted out the wall surrounding it. The door—frame and all—fell inward, revealing three more Death Eaters with wands drawn. Two fired the Killing Curse, but Harry had already whispered the password and was spinning out of sight. The third cried “ _Somnus_ —” just as Harry disappeared.

Mission accomplished…he hoped. A combination of the spell he had half-avoided, the exhaustion of the previous night’s lack of sleep, and the fighting during today’s raid seemed to overwhelm Harry, and his eyes began to droop even as his spinning in the fireplace slowed. He had to hope that the others had finished their parts, but he had needed the password to travel, so everything should be fine, and they would be safe once they reached…once they reached…undisclosed location…

* * *

The next morning saw Draco toss a newspaper—now only obtainable by those with approved Blood Status—onto the General’s Table with a scowl. Harry had arrived back at Hogwarts moments before, along with Augustus Pye, who had allowed him to sleep until dawn that day. On seeing the headline, Sirius let out a barklike laugh, and began to read aloud:

> “ _Harry Potter: Public Menace!_  
>  _As the recent attack on St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries should have demonstrated to anyone still harbouring doubts, Undesirable Number One—whose bounty has now risen to 60,000 galleons—has proved once again to be a danger to all loyal magical subjects._  
>  _Undersecretary Malfoy has decreed a Curse-On-Sight order for Potter, whose damning list of crimes includes treason, conspiracy, mayhem, kidnapping, larceny, civil disobedience; multiple counts of manslaughter and attempted manslaughter of Purebloods; multiple counts of aggravated assault and battery upon the Dark Lord’s person, upon Ministry Aurors, upon Ministry Healers, upon Ministry employees, and upon Purebloods; escaping and evading Ministry arrest, harbouring of Blood Traitors and Mudbloods; and aiding, abetting, counseling, and being a willing accessory to the escape of other known criminals…_ ”  
> 

“I notice they don’t mention that none of the Healers were killed in our ‘attack’,” Harry observed. “Including the ones that the Death Eaters cursed or used as human shields. _And_ there’s no mention of the raid I was actually on yesterday. Not making themselves look very competent, are they?”

The raid on Saint Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, which had also taken place yesterday, had seen the recruitment of several more Healers and the evacuation of all non-permanent patients to Hogwarts, along with their support staff and medical supplies. Sadly, there was no way to move the long-term care residents safely at the moment, so that ward was carefully sealed and secured, so that the likes of Gilderoy Lockheart and Frank and Alice Longbottom could be taken to a secure location at a later date.

“The fact that you weren’t even at St. Mungo’s is the best part,” Sirius crowed. Then a frown creased his brow. “Where _were_ you, come to that?”

Harry caught Draco’s eye, then gave his godfather a thin smile. “Sorry, Sirius, mate. That’s ‘need to know’.” He rolled his head around at the surrounding crowd, mutely telling Sirius that the snub wasn't really meant for him.

Sirius’ eyes flicked to Draco. The pale boy rolled his eyes. “Retrieving prisoners and tampering with enemy communications,” he said shortly. “Then Hero-boy had to go back and save someone who had gotten pinned down…”

“As opposed to what, Draco?” Harry challenged tiredly. “I should have left him behind?”

Scowling again, Draco reluctantly shook his head. “No…you made the right call P—Harry,” he corrected himself. “Particularly given who it was.”

“I’ll tell you one thing, Draco,” said Harry, changing the subject from where the previous day’s mission had been. “Either I’m getting slower, or your father is a better shot than I gave him credit for. He caught us from behind yesterday; shot a Gouging Spell that hit the ground right between us. Tore my legs up pretty good before the field medic—” he carefully did not name the man, just as Draco hadn’t, “—could patch me up.”

“Was he injured?” Draco asked. His voice was perfectly steady, his concern only notable in the microscopic widening of his eyes.

“No, nobody counterattacked him. I stunned him and we kept moving.” It had helped that there was nobody else around at the time—from either side—but Lucius’ hair was fairly characteristic even when he wore his Death Eater’s mask, and everyone in the Resistance had specific instructions not to harm the elder Malfoy. 

Per Harry’s official orders, backed reluctantly by the other Generals—Minerva, Kingsley, Arthur, and Neville—the Resistance was to treat Lucius Malfoy as a friendly deep-cover agent, who would do anything necessary to keep his admittedly-shaky-at-present position with the Death Eaters. Enabling him to keep his cover was considered a high priority any time he was encountered on a mission—similar to how Kingsley himself had been forced to act against Dumbledore in his capacity as an Auror several years before. None of the others seemed to understand why, but Harry was adamant. The Malfoy family had spared him twice in the last two months, and Draco had fully joined the Resistance. And, in his opinion, Lucius’ actions the previous day proved that he, too, was indeed friendly: his choice of curse and point of aim when not observed by the enemy indicated he was willingly not aiming to kill.

There were those who were still doubtful of both Lucius and Draco, Neville and Sirius chief among them, but Harry publicly stood by his old rival and repeated one of Dumbledore’s sayings: _We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided._

The phrase itself had become something of a motto for the Resistance, and was a standard for graffiti anytime a mission took them somewhere semi-public, alongside the classic reminder, _Dumbledore’s Army: Still Recruiting_ , and the stylized image of a phoenix and flame which everybody had practiced enough to reliably produce. Since George Weasley was, for obvious reasons, unable to return to work in Diagon Alley, one of the Resistance’s first “raids” was on Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, which they completely cleaned out. George produced and supplied most of the paints for their graffiti, as well as many of their other tools.

Two months had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, and though the castle was essentially under martial law, everyone was getting by fairly comfortably. The Hufflepuff’s basement dorms—the only ones untouched by the battle—had been expanded, and everyone slept there in sort-of barracks. The villagers from Hogsmeade and the families of the current students were brought in for their safety, and everyone not caring for small children was, for want of a better term, drafted. 

Only the injured were kept above ground level, and the Hospital Wing had overflowed onto most of the surrounding floor. This had occupied many of the castle’s House Elves for several days, until the entire area was sanitized to Madam Pomfrey’s and the Saint Mungo’s Healers’ liking. Thereafter, the entire floor was sealed off as a kind of extended clean room, requiring anyone wishing to enter to undergo thorough decontamination. They had also prepared a holding area for injured captive enemies, but none had been recovered in the aftermath of the Battle, and the current set of missions were not aimed at taking Death Eater prisoners.

Massive though Hogwarts was, it was not equipped to hold thousands of people, so a large task force was enlisted to excavate part of the mountainside that Hogwarts sat upon. It would be neither pleasant nor very comfortable to live in, but worked well as a staging ground before evacuation to other safehouses, and there were few complaints given that the alternative was to risk a Death Eater attack.

The remaining Weasley Twin had taken to instructing the younger student-soldiers in the basics of enchanting clothing, for instance: The slightest sparkle, glamour, or extra billow produced even by a first year could throw off the enemy’s aim enough to avoid a lethal blow, and some of the older kids were able to make the clothes fireproof, or resistant to cutting and blasting curses. Everyone in the castle was outfitted with Shield Gloves and Shield Cloaks, and an emergency Jinx-Off kit was standard-issue for all the custom-made Support Packs.

Since the Twins had always favored civil disobedience as a whole, George had also been hard at work with the help of Ron and Charlie to upgrade their already-famous Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-Bang fireworks into something truly fearsome. The newest Rollicking Rocket Box contained such beauties as the Diabolic Dare Devil, a firecracker which could knock out anyone not wearing the provided ear plugs, and the Peace Disturber, a rocket which dropped small charges that detonated to leave behind Harry’s likeness, grinning and winking at anyone nearby. All of them incorporated the original Whiz-Bangs’ resistance to Stunning and Vanishing, and often it only took a single rocket into an enclosed space to cause complete bedlam.

Mr. Ollivander, who had finally recovered somewhat from his long imprisonment in the secret dungeon of Malfoy Manor, had set up shop in one of the larger dungeons, and began forging wands for those who had lost them in battle. These new wands, he warned them, were not truly customized, but should serve until—at the very least—their users won a wand for themselves. The Resistance had already decided, at Mr. Ollivander’s own advice, to not raid his Diagon Alley shop as they had done the Weasleys’. Before being captured, Mr. Ollivander had sealed it himself, and it was impossible to enter the premises by any known means…or to take any wand off the premises even if one somehow did manage to enter, meaning that even a wand used to break in would be unwillingly left behind.

Several of the larger families rescued or sheltered by the Resistance had brought everything they owned with them, including House Elves who were quickly assimilated into the ranks of Hogwarts’ Elves as a sort of additional help. The Headmistress had made clear that repairs to the castle were the lowest priority, and that the Elves were required to sleep at least eight hours daily while working at the school unless they were under attack. Though unhappy, the little creatures were required to obey, meaning that the Kitchens, bathrooms, and other necessities were not neglected, and the Elves weren’t working themselves to death.

Sirius, Hermione, and two of Neville’s Ravenclaws, Anthony Goldstein and Icarus Utterson, had back-engineered the cracked Two-Way Mirror that Aberforth had used over the previous year, and had applied the charms on it to one of Lavender Brown’s muggle compact mirrors, despite the latter two being bedridden in the Hospital Wing since the Battle. Girly though the overall effect was—as Sirius complained to no end—it protected the mirrors well and was easy enough to add additional charms to. Tony and Icarus added the usual warming and slight vibrations to indicate that someone was calling, as well as several other charms, while Hermione arranged for each of the mirrors to be able to call all of the others. In the end, they had a reliable and easily-concealable method of communication, even over long distances.

Professor McGonagall had then promptly recruited Sirius as an Honourary Transfiguration Professor despite his constant moaning that he was a Charms Adept, and that it had been James who favoured Transfiguration, and couldn’t he at least teach Defense Against the Dark Arts since chances were the curse on the position had broken given that the school in its prior state no longer existed. Needless to say, the Headmistress was not impressed with his arguments.

In spite of his originally-stated plans, Harry, along with Ron and Hermione, had been stuck at the castle for two entire months while the communications issue was sorted out. Harry had taught some Defense lessons to help him get used to Dumbledore’s wand, then accompanied Moody to the woods by the British Quidditch World Cup Stadium to retrieve his magical eye. Though Moody complained ceaselessly about dirt and worms and insects all over it, he was nevertheless extremely pleased to have it back. He even consented to allowing Sirius, Hermione, Tony, and Icarus—by now the Resistance’s designated Research and Development squad—to study it in an attempt to replicate some of its effects. 

Though they were unable to make the newly-charmed glass eyes spin like Moody’s could, nor give them the power to see through magic or solid objects given their short time limit for research, they were able to restore basic, non-colour vision to Sally-Anne Perks, who had lost both of her own eyes during the Battle of Hogwarts. Icarus had hit upon the idea, when they were unable to reproduce the original eye’s Truesight, to charm Saz’s new eyes to be able to ‘see’ heat energy—essentially, Hermione said, slightly into the infrared spectrum—so that she wouldn’t be stuck with only hazy greyscale. As it turned out, this worked even when the eyes were covered, which was just as well, because the Healers who had implanted them demanded she keep her head carefully bandaged for at a month. Elated with their success, they quickly made another one for Demelza Robbins, who had likewise been blinded by shrapnel during the Battle. Demmy mostly wore it deactivated, however, because having one eye able to move and the other not was “massively disorienting”.

Nobody had yet figured out how Mad-Eye had survived at all, but after the third person to ask had been stuck to the floor by their own hair, everybody learned to stop asking…

* * *

The mission to the Ministry yesterday had been a raid on the Auror Office’s holding cells, staged by Harry, Hermione, Neville, and a few other Resistance members. As Draco had revealed, the general goals of the mission were prisoner rescue and communications sabotage, but in the end it was so much more: The holding cells directly beside the Auror Office held political prisoners, high-standing “blood traitors”, and the non-loyal Aurors who had not been killed already. 

Between them, Harry and Neville had emptied the cells, freeing more than twenty people, before they were caught. The field medic, Pye, had healed the injured prisoners as best he could, and Neville had taken them away by Portkey. Pye was supposed to go with them, but they had been found too quickly, and he was forced to flee until Harry could catch up to him. Harry, whose other job was to ensure that the Death Eaters didn’t realize that there was another Resistance group within the building, found Pye easily and directed him to Harry’s own exit. The pitched battle that followed, though short, was nevertheless successful in drawing the Death Eaters’ attention—though as a rule, Harry’s mere appearance anywhere tended to have that effect—and Harry made sure to lead the Death Eaters upward through the Ministry to Level One on their chase.

Meanwhile, Hermione, Marietta Edgecombe, and Marietta’s mother had snuck into the Floo Network Regulation Office on Level Six, with Ginny and Seamus as backup. Madam Edgecombe was a former Regulator of the Floo Network Authority, and was instrumental in their sabotage: Every fireplace within a 200-mile radius of Hogwarts was permanently disconnected, as was every known Death Eater’s home and all of the Resistance’s established civilian safehouses—as even the extended subbasements below Hogwarts could not handle _all_ of their numbers. Finally, every fireplace within the Ministry itself was scrambled such that, without a password known only to the Resistance, anyone trying to leave would instead find themselves simply stepping out of the same fire they had entered, after which the flames would immediately extinguish, necessitating the use of ever more Floo Powder. Then, simply to add insult to injury, Ginny enlisted Seamus to steal the Floo Network Authority’s entire stock of Floo Powder on their way out. Quickly sending the all-clear to Neville, Seamus conducted them all into the fire and eventually back to Hogwarts.

The last thing to be done was to settle the matter of the freed political prisoners…or rather, one particular freed prisoner: Sitting handcuffed before most of the War Council—which included Harry, Sirius, Kingsley, Arthur, the former Hogwarts Heads of House, and several trusted members of the D.A.—was the bruised, broken-nosed, but still handsome face of Blaise Zabini.

“Well now,” he said, as though they were discussing business over a formal dinner. “Isn’t this unexpected? Not only is Draco with you, but here I sit as well, with a grudge against the Dark Lord and something to offer the Resistance.”

Most of the adults were impassive, and Harry held his tongue. Neville was frowning slightly, but the response came from another D.A. member: Justin Finch-Fletchley, who had returned with the reinforcements for the Battle of Hogwarts.

“Something to offer us?” he repeated lightly, his perfect RP diction seeming to dance as he sensed the potential negotiation ahead. “And what would that be, pray?”

Zabini smirked. “Come now, Finch-Fletchley; I was held for less than a week before you lot came along. Surely you heard what happened to my mother?”

As it happened, they had. Zabini’s mother was a famously beautiful witch, who had been married to and widowed by many rich men. She was also a pureblood, and had been…encouraged…to marry again and have more children for the Death Eater’s cause. Though she was a supporter of pureblood supremacy, she declined. This, combined with Blaise’s decision not to participate in the Battle of Hogwarts, led to their house being attacked by Voldemort’s forces, and burned with Mrs. Zabini still inside. Blaise had been captured until, as he had noted, the Resistance had freed him along with the other political prisoners.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant, Zabini,” Justin replied carelessly. Harry had to admit, he was impressed with how the Hufflepuff boy was handling the situation so far. He seemed nonchalant, almost bored; the only other ones on their side who could affect the uppercrust pureblood demeanor half so well were Draco and Sirius.

“Oh, surely you do,” Zabini drawled back. “I am my mother’s only heir, and thus have directly inherited the…rather substantial fortune that accompanies my name. As I, like my mother, have no intention of being told who I shall marry, I find myself with both deep pockets and a target on my back.”

Though he had certainly never been short of coin at school, Draco had counseled earlier that day, Zabini’s preferred currency was information. During school, this usually meant homework or test answers, or even gossip, but he also had a number of useful sources outside of Hogwarts as well, and often had the latest news before the _Daily Prophet_. This was the reason, more than his mother’s fame, which had earned him a place in the Slug Club during sixth year, and though he was unlikely to join the Resistance, Draco thought it equally unlikely that he would side with the Death Eaters after they had killed his mother.

“I still believe that is primarily _your_ problem,” Justin began, but Zabini cut in.

“Don’t insult me, Finch-Fletchley,” he snapped, apparently starting to lose his temper at last. “Your little rebellion is a long way from destitute, and the fact remains that I can provide an important service.” He took a deep breath and released it, then continued more calmly. “I can be…induced to open a lot of doors for you, for the right price. I believe you have sent several envoys to the goblins, which have been unsuccessful for—” his eyes flicked to Harry, “—obvious reasons. I, on the other hand, have a large amount of gold held in Gringotts’ trust, and I believe that I can get their attention for you.”

“And what exactly do you expect to gain?” Justin asked, his bored demeanor slipping into apparently genuine curiosity.

“Oh, this and that,” Zabini smiled darkly, his very white teeth gleaming in contrast. “Gold…protection…information… Really, the possibilities are quite open.”

“And your proposition?” Harry cut in. Justin gave Harry a tiny frown, then his expression smoothed back to polite attention.

Zabini, on the other hand, merely turned his smirk toward Harry instead. “As the muggles say, Potter: Money makes the world go ‘round.” He looked back at Justin. “I address you as someone familiar with the level of…comfort to which I am accustomed.” He shifted his handcuffs. “In exchange for removing these restraints, I shall provide some choice information. If you are interested in my offer regarding the goblins, I will want a new wand, as the Ministry has, most unfortunately, ‘misplaced’ mine.”

“A wand has to choose you, Zabini,” said Harry. “Any wandmaker could tell you that.”

“Like the wandmaker you have here in the castle?” Zabini said slyly.

Harry just laughed. “Is that supposed to be the information you dangle in front of us to show how valuable you are? The last anyone saw Ollivander was the night he escaped from Malfoy Manor with me. It’s not a stretch to guess that he might be found where I am…but then again, why would we be that obvious?” He gave Zabini a sardonic grin of his own.

This time, Justin gave Harry a slight nod. Harry had said precisely the right thing. They weren’t exactly playing Good Auror, Bad Auror, but Harry saw no reason to remain silent when Zabini was being so transparent. 

Zabini, for his part, looked taken aback for only a moment. “Yet, as you say, he was last seen escaping in your company. In any case, it is known among the other side that your wand has been broken, Potter, and yet I see you holding a new one quite comfortably.”

Harry chose not to correct Zabini’s impression of where he had gotten his new wand. Instead, he put up a Shield Charm—one of his specialities—around Zabini so that he would not hear what the Council discussed.

“Justin?” Harry asked.

Justin gave a tiny, gracious nod as Harry offered him the chance to speak first. “I am under the impression that he is being honest in his offer. I am also under the impression that he is reading our lips, so consider yourselves warned.”

“Can we trust him?” Sirius asked, his hand over his mouth.

“Well,” Professor Slughorn shifted his massive weight on the spot. “Given our circumstances, can we really afford not to? I mean, I may well be somewhat biased given my own House allegiance and practices, but we presently lack any kind of spymaster or information tradesman, and he does not appear to wish the enemy well.”

“I agree,” said Kingsley in his deep voice. “The more we know, the better.” 

“Still, this could be a one-time deal or an ongoing offer…so long as we continue to have something to offer him,” mused a slightly gaunt-looking Susan Bones.

“What’s to stop him informing the Death Eaters about us?” Neville pointed out. “It’d be easy, in his position, to play both sides. Well within his nature, too.”

“It would, but something tells me that it’s different, this time,” Harry said slowly. Then, not bothering to cover his mouth, he added, “Besides, it’s not as if we’re going to agree to let him keep the memory of where we are.”

Zabini’s eyes widened marginally.

“I vote in favor,” Harry said. “Neville?”

“As long as we take proper precautions, I suppose…” Neville temporized.

“I’ll trust you know what you’re doing, Potter,” McGonagall said, her eyes narrowed and still focused on Zabini.

“On behalf of the Order, I agree,” said Kingsley.

“This doesn’t really concern the civilians, but for what it’s worth, I am also in agreement,” Arthur said gravely.

With another wave of Dumbledore’s wand, Harry removed the Shield Charm between them.

“We have a couple of conditions, Zabini,” he said bluntly.

Zabini smiled. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

* * *

Now that the matter of communications was settled by the mirrors Sirius had produced, and since Lee Jordan could now safely broadcast Potterwatch from the Astronomy Tower without fear of discovery, and especially since Zabini remembered speaking to Harry, even if he didn't remember that it had been at Hogwarts; it was time for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to set out once more to take the fight to Voldemort. Of course, they had no clue where to go, but all of them were used to roughing it by now. The Resistance was getting along perfectly well without them, so it was time to be fine. 

They had acquired two new tents, which thankfully did not reek of cats, and had replenished their camping supplies. They were even able to fill both iceboxes with preserved food, so that they wouldn’t be as hard-pressed to live off the land as before.

The reason for the second tent was simple: despite Sirius’ easy acceptance that they needed to leave once more, and the slight resentment that most of the D.A. seemed to hold, the Order was not as easy to convince. Eventually, Harry was able to argue the Generals down, and convince the War Council with Sirius’ help that in addition to using Dumbledore’s Army to conduct raids and rescue civilians, that a special task force was needed to actively hunt down Voldemort himself.

“Nothing will change and this war will never end unless I can finish him off!” Harry had told them, over and over again. “And a small group stands a better chance of avoiding notice while we look for him.”

“But why you?” seemed to be the answer every time, from Neville, from Susan, from Minerva, from Kingsley, from Arthur, and constantly from Molly…until finally Harry had had enough.

Slamming his hand onto the table in the private, sealed room where the Generals were holding their discussion, he recited, “ _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born to those who have thrice defied him; born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not, and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives._ ”

There was a roaring silence.

“Then…it was never me after all,” Neville whispered finally.

Harry shook his head tiredly. “It could have been, Nev…but it isn’t. He made his decision seventeen years ago.”

“I remember Frank and Alice fighting Him and escaping all the same times Lily and James did, though,” Sirius protested, for all the world apparently forgetting that he was supposed to be on Harry’s side.

“But I wasn’t marked as His equal,” said Neville, pointing at Harry’s scar.

After another pregnant pause, Neville spoke up again. “It shouldn’t be so bad, I think, since we’ll be able to stay in contact with you this time.” He tapped the hard plastic case of the Compact in his pocket. “All the same, I think we’d all feel better if you took at least a little more backup.”

“Like who?” said Harry wearily. “The D.A. doesn't trust me anymore, remember. You can't blame them.”

“Well, for one thing,” said Neville with a slight grin, “You’re barking if you think you’re leaving Ginny behind again.”

“You'd have to convince Ron and Molly, not me,” Harry chuckled.

Arthur heaved a great sigh. “We've already been convinced, Harry. Ginny's ability, and the accounts we've heard of what this year was like at Hogwarts, have done that perfectly well.” He shared a look with his wife.

“We just want you both to be safe, Harry, dear,” Molly said tearfully.

“We want that for all of our born and surrogate children,” Arthur added, with a half-glance at Neville, who blinked rapidly. “Just…take care of each other, all of you.”

“And also…” Neville added, with an air of pulling himself together, “I think you'd better take Malfoy with you, too.”

Ron scowled from where he stood by the door. Harry sighed.

“It’s just…nobody here trusts him, Harry,” Neville explained. “I’ve gotten to the point where your word is good enough for me, but he spent this year of hell trying to turn us in like everyone else. Even if we’re protected from him by the Fidelius Charm, you must have realized that he’s always just sitting by himself in the library when you haven’t dragged him in here. Without you around…I don’t know how long anyone’s going to listen to him, even if his information and insight have been spot-on, so far.”

Harry met Hermione’s eye, and they agreed silently. “All right, Neville,” Harry said, with another heavy sigh. “But I think that’s it. The only other people I might want with us are you and Luna, and I’ve got a feeling you’re both needed here.” He grinned at Neville. “The troops need their Commander, after all. And Luna is still our coordinator between the civilians and the magical creatures. I don’t think anyone else can quite fill those shoes.”

Neville chuckled, and soon the rest of the room had joined in, laughing quietly. Rubbing his eyes, Harry got to his feet. “We’ll leave tonight, but let’s spread the news that we’re leaving tomorrow instead. I think Hermione already has everything packed up, so as soon as we tell Draco and Ginny we’ll start saying our goodbyes.”

“I’ll have the elves set something up,” said Neville. “A little party, at least. We’ve got to skimp on resources, but at the same time, I think it’ll do everyone some good to lighten the mood a bit. That’s how it was when we were camping out in the Room of Requirement before the Battle.”

Harry nodded his acquiescence, let out a yawn, then set off for the library to find Malfoy, knowing that Ginny was likely to catch up to them along the way…and that she was already packed for such a trip, having indeed refused to be left behind again.

* * *

The party that evening was a cheery affair, all things considered. As Neville had said, the Resistance was going about as well as could be expected, and everyone was eager for, as Minerva had once referred to the Yule Ball, “a chance to let their hair down”.

The House Elves had pulled out the stops, replacing the House Tables with many smaller ones, as they had done for the Yule Ball, and prepared as lavish a meal as could be hoped for given their ongoing partnership with Aberforth in the Hog’s Head and their own personal brand of magic. 

There was even a small stage and dance floor, and though several members of the D.A. made a good effort at music, they left a stool and guitar empty at the front of the stage, with a small card on the seat reading “For Stewart”, and the celebration ended, as each night did for the D.A. with a moment of silence for the fallen. Tonight, Harry stood with Neville as he hadn’t done since the first memorial after the Battle, and personally thanked every member of the Resistance for standing up and fighting alongside them.

Promising deceitfully to meet everyone for one last breakfast, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Luna, and Draco retired to the War Council’s conference room for some last-minute planning on how best to smuggle their newly-formed Special Operations team out of the castle, ideally without anyone realizing. In the end, they decided to sneak out two at a time under Harry’s cloak, through the secret passage hidden by the Whomping Willow, to the Shrieking Shack where Voldemort had killed Snape during the Battle of Hogwarts. From there, they would be able to Disapparate, heading for the countryside for the few weeks before the Death Eaters’ planned attack.

Thanks to Zabini’s information, they had a solid clue as to when and where the Death Eaters would strike: the Tower of London on 31 July, Harry’s birthday.

This indicated the the beginning of Voldemort’s true anti-muggle terror campaign. It had been bad enough for the muggles when the worst they faced was Dementor-fogs and the occasional giant attack hastily covered up by Obliviators, but now it seemed that Voldemort—having failed to conquer Hogwarts as he had planned—was moving onto the next stage now that he had essentially subjugated magical Britain. The hidden Wizarding World was likely to have its cover blown, but the Death Eaters wouldn’t care so long as they could continue to proclaim that Magic Is Might.

Of course, the muggles would put up a better fight than the Death Eaters could possibly realize, Hermione said. But that would only come once they themselves realized what was going on, and that there was an immediate warlike threat rather than a simple crime or terrorist attack. In the meantime, it would be up to them to keep casualties to a minimum, acting as a sort of vanguard to the Resistance until Dumbledore’s Army could arrive to take over.

Timing the attack to coincide with Harry’s birthday was deliberate, Zabini said, and Draco agreed with him.

“He knows you’re alive, and he’s got to know you’ll be hunting him,” Draco told Harry as they huddled in the Shrieking Shack, trying to decide where they should go first. “But he’s hunting you, too; you’re too big a symbol for the Resistance for him to ignore. This attack on the 31st? He’s calling you out.”

“I know,” said Harry. “It’s too deliberate. It’s him attacking me and the muggle government at once. I mean, there’s got to be something significant to the muggles about that Tower, right?”

“It’s where the crown jewels are kept,” Hermione supplied. “It’s a popular tourist destination as well, so there’s bound to be lots of muggles around for the Death Eaters to attack.”

“Well, we’ll have to stop him, won’t we.” said Ron. It wasn’t really a question. “Only problem is, where do we go until then?”

“Back to Malfoy Manor, for a start,” Draco answered. “The Resistance has already raided the library and father’s stash of Dark Arts equipment—what little the Death Eaters didn’t take for themselves, at least. But there still might be a hint to where the Dark Lord has gone.” 

They all knew that Voldemort wasn’t at the Manor itself any longer; he had abandoned the premises as a headquarters after Harry’s escape, but Draco raised a good point that it was the only place that might offer a hint at where the enemy had gone to ground. With no other plans on offer, they agreed to start at Draco’s ancestral home.

* * *

Malfoy Manor was just as Harry remembered it from his dreadful trip there back at Easter, albeit now with a deadened feel to the building, showing it was no longer inhabited. Still, the five of them took no chances, appearing back-to-back, a few feet apart with wands drawn. “ _Lumos_ ,” they all whispered, and began sneaking quietly toward the large house.

Draco approached the gate and placed his hand on a particular stone on the right-hand column, causing them to swing silently open. He then led the way up toward the house, casting nonverbal Silencing Charms on the albino peacocks that still strutted around the lawn. When they reached the front steps they paused, and Hermione stepped forward.

“ _Specialis Revelio_ ,” she hissed. Her lit wand tip suddenly turned a soft blue. She scanned back and forth across the porch, but nothing seemed to happen. She moved up the stairs and checked the door as well. When she moved her wand past the lock, the light flared green.

“Charm on the lock,” Hermione mumbled, continuing her search. When she moved away from the lock, the light turned blue again. When she reached the window, it suddenly flared red. “Curses on the windows.” She returned to the door and checked the cracks around it, finding another charm apparently on the inside doormat. Then she whispered, “ _Homenum Revelio_ ,” with her wand still pointed under the crack of the door.

They all waited with bated breath, but she shook her head when the spell came back negative. She stood up and tapped at the lock with a few different rhythms, then knelt back down and poked her wand insistently beneath the door. Finally, she stepped back.

“There’s a Detection Charm on the lock and a trap on the doormat,” she announced. “We open the door, it calls the Death Eaters. Then when we go inside, we get stuck and can’t get away. I’m not sure what the spells on the windows are, but they’re much nastier, probably meant to kill us instead.

“So what do we do?” Ginny asked nervously.

“We circumvent the Detection Charm and jump past the doormat,” Draco and Hermione both said. They glanced at each other, surprised.

“How?” Harry asked, getting them back on topic.

“Well, probably the easiest way is to cut around the lock,” Hermione answered hesitantly. “From what I can tell, the Detection Charm will go off if the door is unlocked, so as long as the lock doesn’t move we should be able to open the door.”

“Go for it,” said Harry.

With another glance at Draco, who nodded, Hermione pointed her wand at the right-hand door above the lock, angling slightly downward. “ _Defodio_.” 

The Gouging Spell carved away the wood in a narrow strip, which Hermione guided down around the lock and doorknob, until the seam reached the inner edge of the door again. Then, with a gentle push, the door swung inward. They all shone their illuminated wands inside the door, (Hermione’s turning green again), and examined the trapped rug.

“ _Locomotor_ rug,” said Ron, but nothing happened.

“It’s probably a Permanent Sticking Charm,” said Hermione. “Both sticking the rug to the floor, and any intruders to the rug.”

“Wouldn’t any intruders be wearing shoes, though? How hard is it to get away if you just have to take off your shoes?” Ginny wondered as she stepped back to get a running start, so that she could leap past the rug.

“Well, assuming that you don’t fall over and get properly stuck, I suppose it depends how fast the Death Eaters can get here,” said Hermione. “This could easily have been one of the traps they used when they were still using this as headquarters, to prevent people from breaking in. Or, there could be an Unbalancing Charm to make you more likely to stumble and get stuck differently. _Or_ …” she shrugged. “…maybe the Death Eaters couldn’t conceive of such a simple escape from their trap. Nobody said they were geniuses, and wizards in general are pretty lacking when it comes to common sense, sometimes.” 

“Like that logic puzzle from first year?” Harry asked.

“Exactly.”

Searching the house took hours, and though they did retrieve some extra books that Draco had left in his old bedroom, and some dried food and wine bottles that they found in the pantry, there was little sign of any apparent activity. Harry, who had volunteered to search the Drawing Room, could find no indication of any plans, maps, or notes about other Death Eater strongholds. He still had a few guesses as to where Voldemort might be hiding out, but he didn’t want to entertain those ideas just yet… 

Moving back into the portrait-lined entry hall, Harry saw Hermione and Draco coming back down from the second floor of the East Wing, which the latter had explained contained the library and the bedrooms, and Ginny coming in from the conservatory. All three of them shook their heads.

“Well, it was worth having a look,” Ron said.

Looking around at the portraits, Harry asked, “Do any of these have a second portrait elsewhere?”

Draco shook his head. “That’s something for the Headmasters, not regular citizens, even rich ones.”

“Well, we’ve still got Phineas Nigellus, so we’ll be able to keep in contact with McGonagall even if our mirrors stop working,” said Ron.

“We can always just go back if that happens, though,” Ginny reminded him. “It’s not like Hogwarts is occupied by the enemy anymore.”

As they left, leaping back across the trapped rug, Hermione twitched her wand and pulled the door closed behind her.

“ _Reparo_ ,” she said, mending the gouges in the door which had let them enter in the first place. “Now, let’s seal this place properly; we’ll show the Death Eaters how you protect a building,” She added, grinning.

Five minutes later Draco was closing the gate behind them, and after a brief discussion of where they should camp, they all joined hands and Disapparated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N** : Welcome to the newly-revitalized _Novus Ordinem Voldemort_. Check out the imgur gallery in the description if you need a reminder of my original inspiration for this story, and go read _Dumbledore’s Army and the Year of Darkness_ to see where I’m pulling a lot of my background details and characters from.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are welcome; please tell me if you like what I'm doing! Feel free to ask questions as well, but I don't plan to give away spoilers in the comment section.  
> You can also find me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/backslashecho), or send me an ask on [my blog/tumblr](http://backslashecho.com/), so feel free to follow me or tell me what you think there.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [HP:NOV Omake -- Arguments in Grimmauld Place](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795354) by [BackslashEcho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BackslashEcho/pseuds/BackslashEcho)




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